The Season of Light
by Nwfanmega
Summary: Alexandria was supposed to be a new start for all of them. But what happens when relinquishing the old world proves harder than embracing the new? Will Michonne chose to seek her own happiness, even if it takes her further away from Rick? Angst, love, and a healthy dose of redemption. Richonne and TF, with a double scoop of Michonne. Because, she deserves everything.
1. Running out of Time

**A/N** : I own nothing TWD-related. If I did, Carl would still be alive. But I digress. I've been so inspired by this fandom and its genius writers, that my passion for writing has been rekindled. You guys are truly amazing! This is my first story and I'm nervous as hell, but here we go.

A very special thank you to: tigerwalk, fikfreak, comewithnattah, leeeel, and lovemesumrick. Your support and encouragement was invaluable and made me feel brave enough to post this story.

* * *

"What the fuck Tara?" Daryl roared. "C'mon, god damn it, we gotta go faster. We needa' get him home NOW!"

In a frenzy, Daryl sprang to his knees from a seated position on the floor of the van's cargo hold, losing his grip on the pocket flashlight in his right hand as the van, tires screeching, careened around a curve. Propelled forward, he looked on as the flashlight bounced off the floor and rolled towards the backdoor of the van, casting bursts of light across its ceiling, and briefly illuminating the dim space.

Ignoring the throbbing pain radiating from the stab wound to his left shoulder, Daryl scrambled, on his hands and knees, to retrieve the flashlight from where it had landed, just shy of the backdoor. Once there, he remained crouched for a moment, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Gingerly, he pulled his left arm across his chest, cradling what he knew to be the telltale signs of a broken rib. Probably a few. He'd experience plenty of them as a kid and nothing else had ever brought that same familiar agony.

Each intake of breath felt like his lungs attempting to explode through his chest wall. But in his current state, he was barely able to slow down enough to even try to regulate his breathing. He figured, if he was able to inhale and exhale in smaller, shorter puffs, the sharp edges of the pain might wane enough to grant him _some_ relief.

He knew he could bear his current situation, but needed the suffering to ease up a _little_ bit. Just enough to get him through this nightmare of a day.

As thin rays of sunlight streamed in from the front of the van, Daryl, from his vantage point, was able to make out the slow rising and falling chest of his unconscious friend, laid out towards the front of the van's interior.

Despondent and unable to endure looking at him any longer, Daryl averted his gaze, opting to take in the detritus scattered throughout the cramped space. Empty gas canisters, cords of rope, a few crates of canned food, blankets for longer runs, along with some flare guns and assorted knives. All dispersed across the floor of the van, like long since forgotten wreckage at the bottom of the sea.

Scrunched low to the floor and still panting heavily, Daryl plotted his return to the front of the van. With the slicing pangs in his chest beginning to abate, he centered himself and prepared to move.

 _This'll hurt real bad._

Tucking the flashlight into the breast pocket of his denim jacket, and with his left arm firmly against his torso, Daryl used his right hand for balance, as he carefully crawled back to his original spot.

Once there, he rose to peer through the porthole that had been cut into the van's partition. It carried sorely needed light into the back of the van, and allowed him to see the driver's side of the bench-style front seats, as well as through the windshield to a sliver of the road ahead.

Muffled, agitated tones drifted back to Daryl from the front. He strained to make out what was being said, but aside from what Tara was saying as she drove, the ambient noise generated as the van traversed the rocky terrain made it impossible to pick up much of the conversation.

He didn't really care anyway. The countdown had begun and they were running out of time. They needed to get him home, and they needed to do it _now_.

Clinging to the lip of the opening with his right hand, he caught a glimpse of Tara, holding the steering wheel in a bone-crushing grip, as she struggled to keep the van on its course, while navigating the debris-strewn roadway.

A toxic brew of anxiety settled in the depths of his belly. His eyes frantically darted back and forth, searching for obstacles in the way of their hurried return to Alexandria. Spotting numerous abandoned vehicles in the distance, Daryl prayed they wouldn't get stuck, or worse, crash into the mess ahead.

Heart palpitations reverberated throughout his body, as sweat streamed down his face, pooling in the creases of his jacket. An unbearable sense of doom swathed the van and its five passengers, as realization of the dire circumstances invaded their consciousness.

 _What'll I tell 'er?_

Before heading back to Alexandria, they had agreed that even though their chosen path was not a fully cleared route, it would still be the fastest way home. And with the clock ticking, Daryl knew they had no choice but to take _some_ risks to get home as soon as possible.

 _She's gotta see 'im._

Scanning the landscape for gaps large enough to maneuver through, Daryl steeled himself against the front wall, as the van picked up speed, churning the air surrounding it, and leaving grayish-brown streaked clouds of dust in its wake.

When a fleet of school buses appeared on the horizon, it became clear that their increased speed would be short-lived. Daryl braced himself against the van's partition, as Tara, in an effort to avoid crashing into the buses, abruptly pumped the brakes and skidded onto the shoulder of the road.

"Fuck me!" Tara called out, slamming her fists against the steering wheel, and startling the two passengers beside her. "Hold on! Let me find a way out of this shit."

 _Fuckin' bullshit luck. Why'd we fuckin' not clear this shit 'fore now?_

For months, they had discussed the benefits of clearing this stretch of road. Specifically, how it would create major shortcuts to the Hilltop and the Kingdom, Alexandria's closest neighbors and both communities where a number of _Rick's Group_ had moved over the past year.

 _Too fuckin' late now. Gonna hav'ta deal with it._

Creeping forward, the van pitched to the right, teetering dangerously close to the ditch on the other side of the road's shoulder. Daryl could only look on as Tara guided the wobbly vehicle past the buses and back onto the roadway. While she stabilized the van, he spotted walkers trapped in the buses, snarling and clawing at dirt-encrusted windows, oblivious to the futility of their attempts to escape this hell on earth.

"Yeah assholes, not fuckin' t'day," Daryl muttered.

"Shit!" Tara exclaimed. "Of course, we've got another fucking problem. We– We're almost on empty."

"Nah, not happenin'," Daryl boomed. "C'mon Tara, floor this piece of shit and get us home now!"

"I'm not up here fucking baking cookies!" Tara snarled, fed up with bearing the brunt of Daryl's rage and panic. "I'm _trying_ to get us home."

Daryl was fed up too. Frustrated by their slow pace, he turned to his right and squinted, reaching down to clutch his friend's hand and get a better look at his face.

As Tara attempted to steer around an abandoned semi-truck in the middle of the road, Daryl felt the van shift on its axle and begin fishtailing. The sudden movement knocked him over, sending a jolt through his injured shoulder and ribs as his left side made contact with the left wall of the van. Distressed, he struggled to keep from passing out.

Mentally pushing past the searing ache taunting his entire left side, he scrambled back to his spot. Daryl leaned in, hastily scanning him from head to toe, making sure he was still ok.

 _Fuckin' way to go. Dirty… bleedin', in the back of this fuckin' piece of shit van._

Tara's erratic driving hadn't disturbed him too much, Daryl noted, but his head now hung off the blankets, slightly cocked to the side. Using his right hand, stinging from fatigue, Daryl gently lifted his head and prop it back onto the pile of blankets.

 _At least_ , _his head is off this dirty ass floor_. _Don't mean shit now anyhow._

Daryl peered up at the porthole, calling out to Tara, yet again.

"Just hurry!" Daryl pleaded, the stinging bite of his earlier proclamations now tempered. "Ain't got much time left. She's gotta see him... she's _gotta_."

"Jesus Daryl, I'm trying!" Tara implored, stress reducing her voice to a barely sustained croak. "The detour cost us. We're burning through gas. Pray we got enough to get back."

Daryl knew he needed to check his emotions. Yelling at Tara helped nothing and served no one. He needed to calm down and start thinking about what he was going to tell Michonne.

 _Nuthin' I can say to not make this the shittiest of shit days._

"C'mon Tara, we gotta make it back," Daryl begged. "We gotta."

"I know… I know," Tara mumbled, dejected.

It was supposed to be a simple run. Since defeating the Saviors, they'd gone on dozens just like it. Lately, life had been good to _all_ of them. So good, that Daryl couldn't even remember _exactly_ when they had last lost someone.

 _Prob'ly too long ago. Got us fat and happy. Stupid too._

He flogged himself for momentarily forgetting that this was _still_ a dangerous world. Being in a position to forget was, he supposed, the privilege of peace, and having people to love, who loved you too. Practice and vigilance were the only true ways to stay safe in this world. Complacency, a never-ending hazard to survival, was a trap into which, today, they had fallen. Another tragic reminder of the perils of thinking good luck would indefinitely hold them in its carefree embrace.

 _Fuckin' ran the hell outta luck today._

An endless loop of the events of the day played out in his mind. Daryl ran through every single scenario he could think of to explain _how_ they could have possibly missed the rogue Saviors. He knew Michonne deserved more than to hear that it was an accident, and that they had simply fucked up. He would have to explain to her how he had failed him, and subsequently, how he had failed her as well.

 _How the fuck do I do that?_

* * *

 _As they always were, the run was planned at a meeting in the Monroe house. Daryl wouldn't have even bothered to go on this particular outing, but Aaron had been injured during their last recruiting mission and was not ready to get back on the road._

 _Daryl had been home for over a week and was getting restless, his usual trigger after too much time spent behind Alexandria's walls. Joining the run would be just enough to satisfy his itch._

 _After Tobin read aloud a full inventory of Alexandria's supplies, all 20-odd members of the various run crews settled down on the living room's couch, chairs, and floor, to discuss the community's current needs._

 _Ordinarily, only one of them would have been present, but both Rick and Michonne attended that evening's meeting, standing on either side of the fireplace, facing those seated around the room. If the run crews couldn't come to agreement on their objective, Rick and Michonne would deliberate and, as usual, either act as tiebreakers, or make the final decision._

 _They were nearing the end of fall, and since food runs were exponentially more difficult to manage during inclement weather, the crews would usually have elected to seek out non-perishables to stockpile for the winter. But, this summer had been their first uninterrupted growing season and they had had a bumper crop. Thanks to some agricultural talents borrowed from the Hilltop, they had been able to can or store enough fruits, vegetables, and mill-able grain to get them through the winter. They even reserved some extra to trade._

" _Feels strange even sayin' it, but we're good on food," Rick grinned, leaning away from the mantle to catch Michonne's eye._

 _She nodded, returning his smile with a dazzling one of her own._

" _Hunt crew brought back 'nough deer," Daryl added from his perch in the doorway. Present, but as was his way, conspicuously separated from the rest of the group. "That'll keep the smokehouse in action for a while too."_

" _Since we don't need to scavenge for food, I'm thinkin' we go ahead an' patch up those spots… ya know, the ones on the South wall," Rick stated. "It'll be harder to get done once the snow comes."_

 _Scanning the room, Daryl noted that most appeared to agree with Rick's recommendation. A few sections of the wall had begun to rust and buckle, raising concerns about how much time they realistically had to hold of repairs before the wall's weaknesses became a true problem. Now seemed to be as good of a time as any to shore up Alexandria's defenses._

" _I second that," Michonne said. "We probably have time, but I don't want us to wait too long. Walkers are slower in the winter, but a big herd doesn't have to move fast to cause trouble. We can't take that kind of chance."_

" _We could do a pick-up from that construction site Heath and I found on our last run," Tara relayed from her seat on the floor. "It had tons of steel sheeting narrow enough to stack in the vans so we don't have to take the semis and waste gas. Plus, there were some small earth-moving vehicles we could tow back here and put to use in the gardens."_

" _It's less than a half a day's drive and a straight shot North of here," Heath added._

 _It occurred to Daryl that maybe this was also the time to check out something he, Rick, and Michonne had discussed a few months prior._

" _Hey Rick?" Daryl called out. "'Member that outpost we came up on goin' after that prick Simon? The one'n the middle school? It's 'bout a half day's drive North too. How 'bout we hit both spots? Two birds, one stone an' all."_

 _The outpost was fully fenced and had 360-degree visibility from the rooftop. They had discussed going back to assess whether or not it could be used as a secondary meeting and staging area for trading with the other communities._

 _The location they currently used for such activities was situated near the center of a triangulated region encompassing Alexandria, the Kingdom and the Hilltop. Their initial projections had been that the site would more than sufficiently meet their needs for the next few years. But with additional communities joining them, it had reached maximum capacity sooner than expected. They simply needed more space._

 _If the outpost panned out, the new site would be better positioned to cover Oceanside, as well as two new communities recently added to their network. In this brave new world, such problems were considered 'progress' and no one took progress in rebuilding society lightly. The very thought of expansion was exciting to all of them. How could it not be? Being able to rebuild civilization meant truly living._

" _I don't know," Michonne challenged. "That means sending out more people. We've still got some time to deal with the outpost. Why do it now?"_

" _Yeah, I get it Michonne, I surely do," Rick said. "But Daryl's right. Sendin' out a bigger run crew to hit both spots'll be worth the effort. Get it done now, won't have to do it later."_

 _Daryl knew Michonne understood the run itself was a fairly straightforward affair, but any run lasting more than a few days generally required their best people to ensure safety and efficiency. A half-day's drive meant a run of almost three days. She was usually the hardest sell in such scenarios._

 _Having their most capable and combat-ready folks out at the same time wasn't prudent, not even in peacetime. There was always the risk that if their toughest people were out at the same time, a weakened Alexandria would have limited protection in the event of an attack. Daryl knew this worried Michonne, but when you live in a community, everyone gets a vote._

 _They voted to hit both spots. To mitigate risk, Michonne insisted they ask some of the Kingdom's strongest fighters to keep vigil in Alexandria during the run. Such requests had become common amongst the communities. Daryl knew Rick didn't think it was necessary, but he also knew that Rick would never deny Michonne's feelings on it either. He never denied Michonne's feeling on anything._

" _Don't needa' big crew," Daryl stated, surveying the room. "Two teams of four should be plenty. Who's in?"_

 _Several arms shot up in the air, and both run teams were determined in short order. One would be led by Rick, the other by Daryl. Once assignments had been finalized, they agreed that the two teams would leave a couple days apart, minimizing their overlap outside the walls, as well as keeping their strongest in Alexandria for as long as possible. Walkie-talkies were packed so they'd be able to communicate with Alexandria, as well as with each other, in case either team came up on any trouble._

 _After the meeting's conclusion, Daryl and Rick stayed behind to review the maps and give their plan a once-over. They decided Rick's team would leave first and head for the construction site; Daryl's would depart two days later for the outpost. With no plans to bring anything back from the outpost, scoping and clearing it would be expeditious._

 _On the morning of the fourth day, they would rendezvous at a designated meeting point near both sites, split up the supplies between the vehicles, then convoy back home. They'd be back in Alexandria shortly after nightfall._

 _Simple. Or so Rick and Daryl thought._

* * *

In the back of the sweltering van, Daryl recalled that fateful meeting and the events of the day, distracting himself from thoughts of how he would explain to Michonne what had happened. His mind incessantly gravitating back to the fact that he had promised he would bring him back to her safe and sound. He had p _romised_. The thought of  
disappointing her crushed him.

She had been at the gate when Daryl and team departed, smiling effusively, emitting lightness, an essence he hadn't seen before. The reticence and worry of the past had gradually, over the past year, been stripped from Michonne's features, revealing bits and pieces of who, he could only guess, she had been in the old world. While it had taken him awhile to get used to this new Michonne, it had been his immense pleasure to do so. He would never say it, but he was proud to be one of the few privileged enough to luxuriate in her orbit.

Using the intermittent light streaming in from the hole in the van's partition, Daryl shifted his gaze back to him. He could see the faint outline of blood trickling, like a shallow creek, from his neck and onto his dirt-streaked t-shirt. Daryl reached into his pocket to retrieve the flashlight. Turning it on, the darkened space was once again revealed.

Vision slowly adjusting, Daryl squinted at him, observing the shivers that seemed to ripple through his body at regular intervals. He leaned in to get a better look at his face, sucking in a sharp breath as he bent towards him.

His eyelids were practically closed and Daryl, from his angle, could only see the whites of his eyes. He could tell the strain of keeping them open was wearing on him, but thankfully, he was still fighting.

 _Don't look too good, but thank God, he's still alive._

His skin had taken on a gray pallor and his breathing was noticeably labored; beads of sweat formed on his upper lip and forehead.

Taking in another quick, painful breath, Daryl reached into his back pocket to pull out a soiled handkerchief. He leaned over to wipe the sweat from his brow, further dampening the hair clinging to his forehead in ringlets.

 _Jesus, this is the end._ His heart broke for him, for her, for all of them.

"C'mon on man!" Daryl implored, tears stinging the back of his eyelids as he shut them tightly, attempting to will away the wretchedness of the day. "Hold on! We're almost there. Pleeeassse… please… please stay with us. Almost there. I'll get you back to her. I promise."

Sensing the slowdown of the van, Daryl shot up to his knees. The maneuver jarred his shoulder, nearly bringing him back down, but he held on. Simultaneously, he heard a familiar whistle chime from the front seats. Peeking through the windshield, he could just make out Alexandria's gates.

A shout came from the front seats.

"OPEN THE GATES! C'MON! OPEN THE GATES NOW!"

The distinct sound of rusted metal scraping across old rails echoed in the confined space, as the van  
sputtered for a few seconds, then kicked into gear and drove into Alexandria.

Daryl looked at him.

 _He's still here. Thank God._

Lightly squeezing his hand, Daryl watched as his eyes open a little bit. He placed a hand on his forehead, checking the fever's progression. Daryl recoiled from the heat. He was burning up.

 _Won't be long now._

"W– We made it back," Daryl rasped. "We're here."

He didn't expect a response. Aside from occasional prayers for him and admonishments to Tara, the back of the van had been largely silent for the last several miles.

Which was why the return of his squeeze was so unexpected, that it all but knocked him back to the floor. When he looked over and met his now open eyes, the tears Daryl had been holding back found their escape, trickling down his cheeks and onto the dusty floor.

He heard the front doors of the van creak open, enveloping the quiet space with brusque shouts from outside. Daryl blocked it from his mind. He had done the only thing he could do to bring some semblance of comfort to this miserable situation.

Daryl had brought him home.

* * *

"Now, Judy-bear, you _cannot_ be so greedy and just eat it all," Michonne said, enthralled by the antics of the irresistible little girl sitting on the other side of the countertop. "I need some for your cake!"

Michonne looked across the center island at Judith, her deliciously sweet face frozen, eyebrows dramatically raised in surprise, and sticky fingers just inches from her mouth. Bit by bit, her eyes trained on Michonne's, Judith completed her fingers' journey to her mouth, exhaling a blissful sigh, while indulgently licking the honey from her fingers.

Judith's bold thievery elicited a big smile from Michonne and snickering from Carl. By some sleight of hand, she had managed to scoot her highchair close enough to the counter to actually dip her fingers into the honey Michonne had measured out for her cake.

As Michonne looked across at both of them, she could scarcely believe that after so much trauma and heartache, they had all safely arrived on the other side. Finding this again, at the end of the world, was miraculous. Far more than Michonne could have hoped for or dreamt of.

Gazing at this precious girl and her brilliant young man of a brother, she felt the rightness of coming to Alexandria down to her bones. Catching Carl's eye and his beautiful smile, she knew he felt it too.

"It's funny," Carl said. "When we got here, I wasn't sure that we'd ever find a place where we could celebrate something as simple as a birthday. I mean, Judith gets to celebrate her second birthday!"

"Well, we've been here a little over a year, so… it _does_ kinda make sense we're celebrating Jude's second birthday," Michonne smirked.

Her focus still on Carl, Michonne noticed the previously carefree smile slowly fade from his face. His now pensive look stilled her heart. She tried to fully read his expression, but the mop of hair covering his right eye obscured him from her scrutiny. A shadow had inexplicably marred the joyfulness in the kitchen. She needed to stamp it out and resurrect the earlier jubilance.

"I know _that_ ," Carl said, rolling his eyes theatrically. "I'm just saying, I– I don't know. I guess I just thought we would–" Sighing deeply, Carl lifted his face from the countertop, finally making eye contact with Michonne.

Michonne studied the detached, faraway look on his face. Her stomach plummeted as she intuited Carl's glassy stare was due to tears, already threatening to fall.

She quickly circled to his side of the counter, settling onto the stool between he and Judith. Michonne gently placed her hand on his arm, staying him from flipping through the pages of the comic he had been perusing.

"Ok Carl, spill."

His fingers fidgeted with the pages, while his eyes found themselves back onto the countertop of the kitchen island. He knew she would understand; she always did. But, he still felt like such a baby being so sad over something like this.

"I just– Sometimes it seems like I should–" Exasperated, he paused, unable to articulate his feelings.

"Just say what's in your heart," Michonne gently implored.

Carl cocked his head to the left, his bangs falling over his eye, blocking him from her view once more. He knew Michonne would understand. She had gotten him from the start. Trying to say what he meant had rendered him tongue-tied, grasping for the best way to unravel his feelings.

Michonne took her right hand and pushed his bangs away from his glistening eye so she could see his entire face. She smiled, encouragingly, as he tried to find his words.

"I just wonder sometimes," Carl began. "What if my mom is looking down on us? I know she'd be proud that we're able to do things like this." He gestured to the mixing bowl, containing the start of a honey pound cake.

"Judith having a fun birthday? Judith having _any_ type of birthday? I know this is exactly what she would have wanted. I know that. But I don't really _know_ that. Do you know what I mean? I guess I just wish I knew for sure."

"Yay!" Judith yelled. "Judif birfday! Judif birfday! Judif birfday!"

Both turned to look at the excitable girl, her face just about completely covered in honey. How she had managed to get it on her eyelashes was a mystery to both of them and one, they both silently agreed was to be rehashed at a later date.

Her enthusiasm was contagious, promptly crushing the tension in the room and bringing back the lightness. Judith's shenanigans proved to be just the panacea Michonne and Carl needed, both taking in the joy generated by something as simple as Judith cheering her own birthday. This would have been nothing special in the old world. Now, it was extraordinary.

"Oh Carl, _of course_ she is," Michonne declared, reaching out to tenderly stroke his cheek. " _Of course,_ she does."

She could scarcely believe how much he's grown since he let her enter their world that fateful day at the fence. She was so proud of the man this boy was becoming. He was kind. He was thoughtful. He was true.

 _I love this boy with all my heart_. Her own tears threatened to announce their appearance.

As it often did these days, her memory drifted back to the boy she once knew who had these same attributes. The boy she used to make honey pound cakes for on his birthday. She clung tightly to the memories of those three glorious years she was allowed that honor. It was something she didn't like to share, choosing to keep it mostly to herself, buried deep in the nooks and crannies of her heart.

Looking from Carl to Judith, it was inconceivable that, in this decimated world, she would have gotten so lucky to find motherhood again. She could feel her tears reaching the precipice, so she inhaled deeply, forcing them back down. Carl was such an empathetic soul. If she started, he would join her. She didn't want to bring any more blackness to the fun they'd been having all afternoon.

These days, the sadness was still there, and she knew it always would be. But, she was rejuvenated by the opportunity to once again give love and be loved. The very thought made her melancholy at times, yet still brought a smile to her lips.

Carl nodded slowly, looking back at her. Noticing her eyes misting, he hastily changed the subject, sorry for ruining their good time.

"Did you tell Dad about the baby?" he blurted out. Right away, he could tell this wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss.

Michonne gave him an unyielding look, followed by a protracted eye-roll.

"You know what? You, my dear, can be such a busybody sometimes. You weren't even _supposed_ to know before I told him."

Sighing, she continued, "I'll tell him when he gets back."

Looking at the wall clock over the kitchen sink, she added, "they should be back soon, which is just as well. I'll need your dad's help with decorations. He promised to– "

Carl cut her off posthaste, "For the record, I _wasn't_ being nosy," Carl stated. "I– I was looking for soap to wash my hands and found it under the sink. Technically, _you_ were being careless."

Pleased with himself, he gave her his signature cat-who-licked-the-cream smile. Truthfully, he was a little bit put out that she would think he had been nosy. He really hadn't been. What he was, was... surprised. Surprised, but happy for her. He was happy for them. They deserved it. He loved her with all his heart and knew better than most how much this meant to her.

"Oh, so, _I_ was careless huh? I think _someone_ 's being a little too–" Sharp rapping at the door interrupted their banter.

Michonne shook her head, as she got up from her stool and walked towards the front door.

"This isn't over young man," Michonne declared. "Not by a long shot!"

Opening the door, her smile instantly dissolved as she took in Scott's stricken face. Seeing her alarm, Scott dropped his chin to his chest and took a step back onto the porch. Michonne held her ground in the doorway, eying Scott's subdued stance, waiting for him to say something. Say _anything_. Whatever had brought him to her doorstep in such a state, it couldn't be good. She girded herself for what was to come.

They stood there, seemingly at a stalemate, for several seconds. She turned to look over her shoulder when she heard Carl's footsteps coming towards them.

"Hey Scott! What's going on?" Carl asked, immediately noting the distress on the man's face.

"We– We ran into some trouble... at the outpost," he started. "The walkies weren't working right, so we couldn't give you a heads-up."

Scott looked back and forth, from Michonne to Carl, eventually letting his eyes land on the ground between them. He was crestfallen.

"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry."

* * *

 _As he lay amidst the grit and grime of the van's cargo hold, waiting for Daryl and the rest to come back for him, it slowly dawned on him that this was likely the end of the road. He was angry. Furious actually. But mostly at himself._

 _How had he been so careless? Had they gotten too cocky again? How the hell had he missed that Savior trap?_

 _Struggling to stay alert, he listened to the faint sounds of his friends, his family really, outside the van, valiantly fighting to clear the path and bring him home to her. The cacophony of battle cries rang in his ears; their efforts soothed his weary heart. He was grateful._

 _Nearly immobile, his eyes tightly shut, he tried to force down the gnawing ache fanning out from the back of his neck and down his shoulder. Despite the acuteness of his injury, a strange compulsion forced him to move. Hesitantly, he lifted his head from the blankets propping him up and sluggishly rolled his body a few inches to the left. His whole body convulsed, tormented, as he reached behind his shoulder to pressed his fingertips to the jagged edges of the bite._

 _This is really it, he thought. Fuck!_

 _Until he touched the bite, his mind had been static, suspended in the realm of magical thinking where, perhaps, being saved was a possibility. He now knew better. The bite was too bad for anything to help. After what had been an incredibly long run of good luck, for these times, his had come to an abrupt end. At least, they were lucky enough to get away without more casualties._

 _It's just me this time, he thought._

 _The air stilled for a moment, allowing him to focus on the steady thumping of his own heart. The silence was suddenly broken by Daryl's shouts._

 _He thought back to Daryl's SOS, just as he and the rest of his run crew began wrapping up work at the construction site. They had loaded the materials needed to patch up Alexandria's walls, and were preparing to hitch the earth-moving vehicles to the back of the van, when the call for help came in. They didn't hesitate, hopping into the van and rushing to the outpost._

 _By the time they arrived, walkers swarmed the entrance. Spreading out in an arc, they expeditiously dispatched the walkers and brought the scene under control. As the construction site team moved through the outpost, he inadvertently set off a tripwire, unleashing walkers from hidden panels near a bank of student lockers. It all happened so quickly. There hadn't even been enough time to get his gun up, before he felt the clasp of fingers, ice cold and fetid, snatching his right arm and pulling him back towards the lockers._

 _The bite sent him instantaneously into shock, shrouding his recollection of what came afterwards. He vaguely remembered screams and loud arguing. Tara and Heath cutting through walkers and clearing the path to the front entrance. Daryl standing in front of him, holding him up. Behind him, he felt arms hook underneath his armpits and across his chest, helping to keep him on his feet, as he was half walked, half dragged out of the building._

 _He had flashes where he saw Tara lead them outside, and to the back door of the outpost run van. Though his eyes were hardly open at this point, he tried to scan for the construction site van, where the rest of his crew were, hoping they were safe. He sensed the hands under his arms relinquish their hold, and heard a sharp squeak as someone jumped into the back of the van._

 _Shaking his head in an attempt to steady his vision, his eyes landed back on Daryl, who was obviously wading through his own pain. Despite this, Daryl grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up into the van. Another pair of arms found their way back under his arms, dragging him towards the front of the van's interior, and then pulling blankets from the corner of the van to shove under his head._

" _Sit tight, I'll be back," Daryl said, retreating from the back of the van, and slamming the doors behind him._

 _Missing those tripwires was stupid. Stupid and sloppy, he thought._

 _Tears lurching at the brink, he prayed to see Michonne one last time. She, who had graced him with her singular brand of brilliance, bringing a newfound luster to his dull world. She, who had given his life renewed meaning, purpose. When he had been so angry and dispirited, she had brought him back and given him a home again. She had shown him the way. The man he was today was because of her. Truly, she had saved him. For that alone, he would be eternally grateful._

 _Ebbing in and out of wakefulness, his mind's eye was, miraculously, able to conjure her clearly. He could see her as she had been that last morning, giddy and laughing, as they lay in bed. Her bright, beautiful smile set off by the divine sun streaming through the curtains of their bedroom. If this was to be his last image of her, it would be enough._

 _They had ended their last night together naked, his arms wrapped securely around her torso, her back tucked snuggly against his chest. He could feel her rapid heartbeat as she came down from her high. He pulled her closer, sensing her breathing smooth out, until it matched his own calm cadence. Rapturously entwined, they slipped into peaceful slumber._

 _When he awoke that last morning, his eyes remained closed, savoring those final few minutes before leaving his bed, leaving his Michonne. He loved watching her sleep. He often purposefully woke early just to get a glimpse of a disarmed Michonne. Her face, relaxed and at peace, a small smile appearing on her lips, making him wish for the power to understand the dream that had put it there._

 _The gentle pull of daylight drew him in as the sun's rays filtered through the sheer curtains and slowly heated his exposed arm. He turned from his stomach to his side to pause and study the intricacies of her face. Her countenance, a master's thesis on elegant beauty, was one he hoped to ace one day._

 _She lay on her side, her body curved slightly towards him, the sheet pulled up to her hip, leaving the rest of her exquisite body delectably exposed. His eyes never left her face, so enthralled by the soft sounds of her contented breathing, the only sound his ears wanted to register._

 _God, how he loved every square inch of her. The soft, supple smoothness of her skin, occasionally interrupted by pebbly scars that yielded to the gentle touch of his fingertips. Her response to his touch brought a small smile to his lips. How ticklish she was just below her navel, goosebumps visible on her flesh the minute he strayed too close to her center._

 _How unabashedly free she was with him. He had made it his life's mission to map each and every scar on her body. She was unashamed, letting him see all of her. Letting him love all of her._

 _He took his right hand and swept her hair over her shoulders and off her neck. With his fingertips, he traced a path down her arm, slowing down at the deep curve of her waist, then speeding up at the upward slope from her waist to her hips, finally landing on one of his favorite places to touch._

 _That curiously seductive, indented scar caused by a bullet from so long ago. He wasn't sure why, but it always intrigued him. The fact that she had survived so much, yet was still standing, still striving, made him recognize how truly fortunate he was to have her. With all of his flaws, she loved him anyway. Her love had been the hallmark of his life._

 _All of it... every minute of his life with Michonne had been... perfection. For a bit of time, he had the privilege of basking in her light. Reveling in the splendor that was loving Michonne. Being loved by her had been an astonishing gift, one he didn't take lightly. After losing so much, it was more than he expected in this life. Maybe more than he had earned._

 _She had trusted him enough to bestow on him something he never imagined he would have in this life, in this world. That he would leave her like this was inconceivable. After all she'd been through, she didn't deserve it. Not like this._

 _The van unexpectedly pitched side to side, callously snatching him from his daydream. He murmured to himself, as both front doors creaked open and indecipherable cries reached him from the front seats._

 _Moments later, the back door swung open onto the visage of a bloodied and disheveled Daryl. Cradling his left arm, he turned, hopped backwards in the back of the van, and rolled into a crouched position. He slammed the doors shut and hobbled towards him._

" _Hey man, how's it?" Daryl asked, worriedly._

" _Well, I suppose I've been better," he joked, earning a snort from Daryl._

 _Daryl reached for his hand, noting how it felt like he had his hands pressed against a blazing fire._

" _Can you tell Michonne tha– that I loved her without knowing how?" he asked, briefly smiling. "She'll know what it means."_

" _Yup, 'course I will," Daryl choked, hardly able to get the words out._

 _He paused, trying to capture Daryl's wandering eyes and bring them back to his own._

" _Gaining a friend… a brother in all of this?" he said, shaking his head, giving Daryl's hand a tight squeeze._

 _Daryl looked up, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling._

" _I'll getcha back to 'er. I promise," Daryl declared._

" _I know you will," he quietly replied, his eyes closing, as little by little, everything faded into nothingness._

 _Daryl pounded on the van wall, signaling they were ready to leave._

" _C'mon. Let's get the fuck out of here!" Daryl howled, as the van's engine thundered into motion._

* * *

Pacing back and forth between the guard tower and the gates, Michonne tried desperately to control the terror creeping up her spine, to beg for refuge in her heart. Distraught, the only balm for her tortured soul was her hope of seeing him once more.

 _How could this happen? Why now?_

The fear caused her stomach to churn, leading her to dry heave into the red clay dirt at the front of the guard tower. Steeling herself, she rubbed the tiny bump she could just feel below her navel, the rhythmic motion calming her.

The second van had been back for hours. All anyone could tell her was that they had been attacked and he had been bitten. They had had to make a speedy getaway due to the outpost being overrun by walkers. Thankfully, the second run crew had been able to successfully retrieve him and, if they had taken the same route, should be only a few hours behind them.

A shout came from the guard tower. "They're coming! I see the van!"

Michonne rushed forward, catching Rosita as she sped down the tower steps on her way to the gates. They both grabbed the levers, hurriedly opening it for the van to drive through.

As the van passed by them, Michonne's eyes feverishly hunted for him through the filth-coated windows. She briskly made her way to the driver's side as the doors opened.

Tara hopped out; the other two exited on the passenger side. Tara looked down as Michonne came into sight.

"Where is he?!" Michonne sobbed.

Tears streamed down Tara's face as she looked up to meet Michonne's dazed expression.

"He's in the back," Tara sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry Michonne. We tri–"

Not waiting to hear what more Tara had to say, Michonne spun around and ran towards the back of the van, just as Daryl hopped down. She caught him by the left arm, causing him to wince and wrench it from her grasp.

"What the hell happened?!" she screamed, her voice a trembling mix of anger and disbelief.

His eyes fixed on hers, he said, "I'm so sorry Chonne. We ran up on three Saviors at the outpost. Fuckers got the jump on us... had to call 'em back from the other spot. He got bit tryin' to get us out. Jesus Christ, we tried. It went too fast. Nuthin' else we coulda' done."

A lump formed in his throat, his eyes spontaneously clouding over as he took in the bewilderment on her face. Needing to escape her penetrating stare, he peered down at his feet, meditating on the dirt caked onto his boots.

Trying to look past Daryl and into the darkened van, dread cloaked Michonne's heart.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"In the back," Daryl replied, finally lifting his head and gesturing with his right hand, while pushing the door wider to give her access.

He took her hand and helped her into the back of the van. There he lay, his feet crossed at the ankles and pointed towards the door. She scrambled into the van and into his arms.

Willing himself to stay awake and say what he needed to say, he turned his head to peer down at her. He wanted to memorize every last detail of her face, happily spend his final moments lost in those deep brown orbs. Those eyes that held a promise. Those eyes that told him he was loved.

While his feverish body continuously shook, his eyes never left hers.

"Babe, I'm so sorry," he began, in a whisper. "I'm not sure what I ever did to deserve you, but I'm grateful. You've been my shining star in this fucked up world. You taught me what it really means to be brave and how important it is to _live_ and _love..._ even in this life. I would give anything for more time, but I'm thankful that I even got any with you. So thankful that I got to love you. Got to be loved by you."

Looking at her, he mustered up his remaining strength to reach down and caress her cheek, using his fingertips to wipe away the tears running in broken patterns across her cheeks and down the bridge of her nose.

"No!" she wailed. "You can't leave me. I won't let you. Plea– Please don't leave me."

Her heart-wrenching sobs echoed in the enclosed space.

"I'm so sorry," he said, mournfully. "I wish I could fix this. I'd give anything to–" He grimaced, trying to go on, but the pain firmly latched on.

"I need one thing from you," he implored. "He promised me he would take care of you. Please, babe. Please promise me you'll let him. Promise me."

Gazing at him, she gave a nod, but remained silent. Michonne lowered her head, resting it on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat as his chest rose and fell against her cheek. He lifted his head a bit higher to peek down at her.

"I love you," he stated. "With all my heart, I love you. I know you know that. You're going to be ok. The baby is going to be ok."

Looking down at her, he tried one last time.

"He loves you too. I know he does, and… so do you. Promise me you'll let him in. Promise me, Michonne."

He cocked his head to the side, turning slightly towards the open van door. His vision was blurred, but he could just make out a figure emerging from the shadows cast as the waning sunlight hit the open van door. Finally, the figure came into full view. From his prone position, he gave a slight nod, which was returned by a nod, and a small, complicit smile.

Secure in the knowledge that Michonne and their baby would be taken care of, he began to let go.

Michonne turned towards the door, her eyes briefly adjusting to the light, then turned back to lay her head on his chest. Her weeping intensified as she felt his heartbeat slow down precipitously. She looked up at him. His eyes were now closed. She brought her cheek back to his chest.

"I love you too. And I promise," she whispered.

She lay there until she felt one final big inhale of breath, then... stillness. Wracked with grief, her tears tumbled down her cheeks and pooled on his blood-soaked t-shirt.

A call came from the open van door. "Chonne, I'm sorry, but it's time."

Michonne lifted her head, studying his face one last time. She stroked his cheek, feeling the hot, prickly flesh beneath her fingertips. Pulling herself up, she gave him one last kiss on the lips, her tears falling onto his now still face.

"I love you. I promise," she said once more.

As she scooted towards the open door, Rick reached into the van, placing his hands on either side of her waist as he lifted her down to the ground. Moving his hands upwards, he held her tightly by the arms, taking a moment to lose himself in the devastated sorrow of her eyes.

Her heart was broken and he knew there would be no easy fix. If it would cure her heartache, Rick would have gladly absorbed all the sadness that life had ever delivered to her doorstep. But he couldn't, so he stood there, doing the little that he could to console her.

After several moments feeling her shake uncontrollably, Rick pulled her towards him, hugging her tightly, while laying a soft kiss on her temple. Carefully releasing her, he stepped towards the open van door.

"Please, turn 'round," Rick implored.

She stood stock-still, seemingly paralyzed and oblivious to his command. Gently, he turned her around, squeezing her shoulder before relinquishing his hold on her.

With her back towards him, he climbed into the van, the rusty vehicle screeching loudly as he inched forward.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she heard him murmur.

Her heart leapt into her throat as the unmistakable sound of a knife running through flesh and bone reached her ears. Tears sprang to her eyes.

She turned back around, staring at the ground, as Rick jumped back down to join her. He drew her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and slowly, softly, rubbing circles into the center of her back.

"I'm so sorry Chonne, I'm so sorry," he chanted, his voice cracking.

Michonne raised her head to meet his eyes, finding regret and compassion in their deep blue oceans, now red-rimmed and teeming with tears.

"Me too," she murmured.

Overcome, she raised her hands to cover her face, trying to barricade herself from the horror of this world. The horror of this day. She faltered, unsteady on her feet and light-headed, as her stomach roiled and the universe went askew. Instinctively, Rick reached out, catching Michonne as she sank to her knees.


	2. Don't Leave Me

_Wilting under the glare of Michonne's scrutiny, Rick wordlessly opened the driver-side door, climbed out, slammed the door behind him, and walked around to the front of the car. Michonne's eyes tracked him as he leaned backwards against the hood, head bowed, seemingly studying the asphalt beneath his feet. Sighing deeply, she remained rooted in the passenger seat, assembling her scattered thoughts. A high-pitched squeak interrupted her introspection, causing her to swivel her head towards the backseat. She looked on as Carl, clutching a whimpering Judith, pushed open the backdoor with his foot and exited the rust-covered vehicle._

 _Pausing for a few moments to clear her head, Michonne grabbed the door handle, pushed the groaning door open, and strode around to the front of the car to meet up with Rick, now seated on the car's hood. Using both hands to hoist herself up, she scooted closer to him, only stilling herself when their thighs and knees lightly touched. Silent, they both took in the surrounding landscape._

" _Rick?" she asked, her eyes never straying from the horizon. "What's going on with you?_

 _Awaiting his response, Michonne, brows furrowed, lifted her hand to shield her eyes against the midday sun. Sensing he wasn't yet ready to answer, she viewed the scenery in front of her, taking in the overgrown greenery framing all sides of their path._

 _Several minutes prior, the RV had stopped in the middle of the road, causing the car carrying Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Judith, to pull over a short distance behind it. Leaning back onto her elbows, she caught the side of Rick's face, as he fixated on the rest of their family, now huddled around the RV's open hood._

 _Carl paced back and forth between the hood and trunk of the car, trying to calm Judith, fussy and irritated from their extended journey in the suffocating car._

" _Judy's grumpy," Carl said, positioning himself in front of Rick. "I'm gonna get her something to eat and drink, and see if she'll take a nap."_

 _Rick nodded as Carl turned, bouncing Judith in his arms, and walked towards the RV. He shifted his focus to Glenn and Abraham tinkering under the RV's hood. He was anxious to see if they would be able to get the vehicle to start again. He watched as a frustrated Daryl aimlessly stomped across the roof of the RV. The others milled around, sitting in the dirt chatting, or simply inspecting the area for signs of danger. Anything to burn off some of the nervous energy buzzing amongst them._

 _As Carl climbed up the steps and into the RV, Michonne's question lingered, suspended in the surprising tension that had enveloped the two of them since Aaron's arrival at the barn. It was an unexpected feeling, reminiscent of their initial introduction those many months ago. He didn't like it; neither did she. But, both held firm to their current state of opposition, unwilling to delve directly into the conflict simmering between them._

 _Instead, they opted to let reticence prevail, directing their gaze beyond the RV, beyond their family, and onto the open, jungle-like fields encircling the roadway. Their itch to connect was ever present, but with neither able to find the necessary words to do so, their only choice was to wallow in the unspoken._

 _For Michonne, it had been a very long, yet ultimately promising day. As bone-tired as she was, she was also curiously invigorated by the prospect of what lay ahead. Aaron finding them was a serendipitous turn of fortune, considering how beaten and broken they all had been after leaving the church. If what he had shared with them about Alexandria was true, Michonne knew this could be the start of everything._

 _Convincing Rick to give this opportunity a chance was a different story, and Michonne felt more and more frustrated with his hesitation. She knew Rick wasn't yet where she was, but she hoped to pull him along. After all, she'd done it before._

 _Despite her exhaustion, Michonne could tell their earlier conversation, as they prepared to leave the barn, hadn't quite hit the mark. Rick doubted what was out there. She had her doubts as well, but for reasons she couldn't entirely articulate, her gut told her that Aaron was telling the truth._

 _She knew you could be out there too long; she certainly had been. Piece by heartbreaking piece, she had begun observing how they were all gradually deteriorating. Thankfully, Rick had listened to her and at least understood the need for them to get off the road. Contemplative, she bit down on her bottom lip, her mind racing, as she considered the possibilities. This could be it for them. They just needed everyone on board, because, Alexandria had to work for all of them, or it wouldn't work at all._

 _Pivoting towards him, Michonne sat up, noting Rick's face, streaked with dirt and etched with worry. He looked drained, defeated, and… something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. She would need to take special care in order to solve the puzzling emotions emanating from him. She had to wield her power cautiously, in order to push down Rick's reluctance to give Alexandria a fair shot. They needed this._

 _Michonne continued examining him, until, a moment of clarity flooded her senses. Suddenly, it seemed so obvious to her. Why hadn't she seen it before? Why hadn't she caught the fear and angst poured off of Rick, like lava usurping the edges of an erupting volcano? She knew his ultimate goal was ensuring the safety of his children and those he loved. But, seeing how palpable his anxiety was, honestly threw her. Rick was a lot of things, but scared? Never. This was a revelation._

 _Michonne looked down at her lap, absentmindedly scraping off dried bits of dirt and walker blood from the creases of her jeans. She was covered in grime, as they all were. The prospect of a safe place with warm beds and running water was beyond her wildest dreams._

 _Michonne chuckled to herself, recognizing the dichotomy of how what was once considered to be 'the basics', had become luxuries in this new world. The absurdity of it all wasn't lost on her, but she knew her primary objective, if they were to have a legitimate hope of getting to Alexandria, was to rein in Rick._

 _Rick had a tendency to let his apprehension get in his own way. When he did, Michonne would be right there as his counterbalance. She didn't mind. They had grown even closer since the fall of the prison and she knew him better than most. Really, better than anyone._

 _Michonne knew his mistrust could easily become dangerous if left unchecked. She was prepared to do whatever it took for them to get there. As long as they got there. She could handle Rick. She gently leaned into him, gripping his thigh and giving it a squeeze to get his attention._

" _Huh?" he asked, a little confounded by her question, but knowing he needed to give her something. Anything. "Nothin' really. I'm good. Just– Just thinkin' 'bout how we get there if the RV won't start up. Why?"_

 _Michonne knew that wasn't what was on his mind. At least, it wasn't the only thing._

" _I don't know," she sighed, looking up from her hands and back to him. "You seem… like you're not here. You're not with us. It's worrying me."_

 _Inhaling deeply, she continued,_

" _Look, I know you think I don't get it, but I do. I see you Rick. You're wondering how you're going to let go of who you needed to be in order to survive out here. How you're going to go from just surviving to actually living. How you'll ever be able to let go of the horror that thrives in this world, when it's been the knowledge of that very horror that has kept you here, kept you alive. How do you, how do we, bring back the good to this world?"_

 _Rick held his breath, transfixed by her ability to cut through his bullshit to get to the crux of his unease. She did get him. She had, since practically the beginning. He knew he would eventually give in, as he always did. He just wasn't ready to concede. Not completely anyway._

" _Don't worry 'bout it," Rick replied. "I'll be fine."_

" _Rick, don't you see that the fight is over? You've gotta let it go. No one knows better than I do how hard that is. How impossible it feels when the fight is what has kept you warm… kept you fed… kept you alive. But– But, the fight... turns on you. It swallows you whole, if you let it. You can't let it Rick. You've gotta let it go."_

 _Michonne sensed the disquiet and fear cascading over him, like turbulent waves over a craggy shore. Her hand found his, and encircled it in a firm grip, trying to impart some of her tranquil certainty onto him and ease his trepidation._

" _Yeah, I know," Rick replied, turning towards her and nodding slowly. "That's what Bob tried to tell me at the church. What to risk. When it's safe. When to let someone in."_

 _He stared at her, looking for some sort of indication that all would be well. That he no longer needed to worry. Could he ever get to the place where he actually let someone in? After all they'd been through, it seemed inconceivable._

" _Don't know if I can anymore," he continued. "The rules, they keep changin'. I'm not sure I have it in me to change with 'em. Look at who I've become, Michonne. I don't know if I can go back to who I was. I'm not sure I'd even want to. The old me woulda' been no good in this world."_

" _Yeah, the rules changed," she replied. "They did for me. Look around, they did for all of us. If they hadn't, none of us would be here."_

 _Giving his hand another squeeze, she continued, "look, I know you don't trust Aaron, but you trust me, right? I've got a good feeling about this. This could be our chance to take our lives back. To have more than just shelter. We could have a real home. Don't you want that too?"_

 _The hope and expectations in her eyes proved too much for him. Rick turned away from her, refocusing his sights into the distance. He knew how much she wanted to get them off the road. He didn't want to disappoint her. Especially now, when they appeared to be so close to… something. Maybe finding a way to truly live in this monstrous world._

 _She sat there, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, trying to get him to see what she saw. Michonne's vision of the future would float in Rick's mind for a few moments, yet when he stretched his arm to grab it, it would disperse, like vapor, through his fingers. He couldn't keep his mind tuned into Alexandria being anything more than a pipe dream. A place like that couldn't possibly exist. Not anymore._

" _Rick, please trust me on this," she implored._

" _I don't know if I can," he replied, truthfully. "I feel like I'm outside my own skin. What if this is a trap? Is it even possible that someplace like that exists? In a world like this?" Rick gestured towards the stray walkers meandering across the otherwise vacant field._

" _How can any light exist in all this darkness?" he asked, swiveling towards her once more._

" _We've lost so much. It– It's hard to be hopeful. In my worst nightmares, I could never have imagined a life like this for myself, let alone my kids. After all we've done, all we've been through, how could we ever be 'normal'? What about– I mean, what if I don't know how to live in a place like that anymore?" he said, his eyes moving back to the field, and away from the intensity of her stare._

 _She had a way of burrowing into his soul. It sometimes unnerved him. Today, he welcomed it. If she couldn't figure out what was happening to him, no one could._

" _Hey," she said, trying to draw him away from the walkers and back to her. "Look at me. Rick? Please look at me."_

 _He rotated to face her._

" _Didn't you say you were willing to do what it took to have one more day with a chance?"_ _She watched him tilt his head slightly, close his eyes, then open them again to take a glance at her._

" _Yeah, I guess I did," he chortled, leaning towards her, his entire side now abutting hers._

 _She studied him closely, determined to pinpoint the words that would cure his anxiety. She was good at that. Michonne knew he didn't want to fully admit just how scared he was, but she could tell. He was trying to be brave for her. She wished he knew that he didn't need to be. They were in this together._

" _Well, I think this is that chance," she declared._

 _Rick looked into her eyes, awed by the strength of her convictions. Michonne had become an integral part of his life. She was family. Instinctively, he had known from nearly the day they met that her presence would somehow be the balm for his wounded soul. He felt balanced and secure when she was around._

 _He just wished he had Michonne's faith. He knew she struggled mightily, but she made it all seem so easy, so effortless. He wanted nothing more than to link arms with her and jump into this unknown abyss together._

 _So, he decided then and there, that he would try. He couldn't figure out why she was so sure, but he did trust her. If she said this was their chance, he wasn't going to fight it any longer. He'd do whatever was needed to ensure they got this chance. That she got this chance._

 _The loud rumbling of the RV coming back to life snapped them back into the present. Both looked up, taking in the view of the rest of their family hurriedly getting back into the RV._

" _Motherdick!" Abraham roared, basking in the accompanying applause. "Glenn, you're a fuckin' genius! Alrighty then. Y'all ready to blow this popsicle stand? Aces! Let's get the fuck out of here."_

 _Rick looked once more to Michonne, seeking, in her expressive eyes, the answers only she seemed to have._

" _You can do this Rick," she said. "We can do this, I know we can. You ready?"_

" _Yeah, I believe I am," he replied, bobbing his head as he hopped off the hood of the car, pulling her down with him, her hand clasped firmly in his._

 _He wasn't exactly certain, but for her, he would see._

* * *

The moon had long since eclipsed the sun, obscuring the light, and shepherding all, but a handful of Alexandria's residents back into their homes for the evening. The murky, yet star-filled night cloaked Michonne in an iridescent hue, pinpricks of which captured, for just a moment, her face in quiet repose. Rick moved a few steps forward to get a better look. Her movements were achingly slow, only perceivable to the most diligent of observers. He wanted to be closer, wanted _her_ closer, but was hesitant to disturb the bubble of despair currently enslaving her.

The funeral ended hours ago, the etching of his name on Alexandria's memorial wall now dry, but there she remained. On her knees, shoulders slumped, body gently heaving in rhythm to an unheard melody. Her arms hung limply at her sides, while her fingers slowly drifted back and forth, clawing at the ground around her, leaving absent-minded patterns in their wake. Her sadness overwhelmed him, but, the magnetic pull of her very presence, held his eyes in place, dedicating them solely to watching her.

A solitary street lamp, dimmed for the night, cast her in an eerie silhouette as she knelt in front of the wall. She looked so small and desolate. A far cry from the excitable energy overflowing from her when he had dropped Carl and Judith off at her house just a few days ago. Seeing her so deflated was agonizing, yet, his heart wouldn't tolerate looking away.

Standing there, enraptured, his arms were plagued by the phantom memories of the tremors he had felt pulse through her body after she passed out earlier that day.

* * *

 _Her stumble had been unexpected, but reaching out to catch her had been natural. He gently laid her on her back, pushing her locs from her face, peering into her slightly open eyes, seeing... nothing. She breathed in heavily, her chest haphazardly expanding and contracting, as he used his thumb to wipe the anxious sweat that had begun beading above her top lip._

 _Seized by panic, Rick slid his left arm under her knees and his right between her neck and shoulders, pulling Michonne towards himself and beginning to rise to his feet. Daryl, having witnessed her collapse, rushed over to help lift her into Rick's arms. The three then hastily made a beeline for the infirmary._

 _On the way, she had awoken, disoriented and frightened._

 _He pulled her closer to him, murmuring, "it's ok, I gotcha," instantly calming her nerves._

 _Dr. Soroyan opened the infirmary's door before Daryl even had a chance to knock._

" _What happened?" the Doctor asked, ushering the three of them into the main treatment area, gesturing for Rick to place Michonne onto the first of three sheet-lined cots arranged against the wall._

 _Carefully setting her down on the cot, Rick replied, "she fainted, but couldn't have been out more than a minute or so though."_

" _Michonne?" the Doctor asked, shining a small flashlight into her eyes to check responsiveness. "How are you feeling?"_

" _I– I'm ok," Michonne replied, trying to sit up, but dizziness causing her to fall back down. "Just a little nauseated."_

" _Well, that's to be expected at this point in your pregnancy," the Doctor continued. "Let's check your blood pressure and make sure nothing else is going on."_

 _Dr. Soroyan didn't notice Michonne cringing, Rick averting his eyes, nor Daryl's dumbfounded expression. He continued his cursory examination, eventually determining that while her blood pressure was slightly elevated, the real culprit was likely a combination of the stress of the day, coupled with mild dehydration. Despite Michonne's protestations, he insisted she stay to rest and properly hydrate._

 _Once Michonne was comfortably resting with an IV drip, Dr. Soroyan directed his attention to Daryl, forcing him to sit long enough for his extensive wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. Rick stayed by Michonne's side, but as soon as Dr. Soroyan had finished patching him up, Daryl bolted up and marched out the door, insisting on making sure he helped prepare him for burial._

 _After getting the okay from Dr. Soroyan, Michonne, leaning heavily on Rick for support, stepped out the front door of the infirmary. Rick, noting the considerably drop in temperature, took off his brown, shearling-collared coat and wrapped it around Michonne's shoulders, protecting her from the wintry chill that had settled in for the night. Huddled closely together, they walked, unhurriedly, towards the gates, quietly preparing along the way, to add his name to Alexandria's list of lost souls._

* * *

"What'll we do?" Daryl asked, catching Rick off guard and shaking him from his thoughts. "We ain't gonna let 'er stay out here all night, right?"

"'Course not," Rick replied. "I just want to give her a bit more time to herself. Why don't you head on home? I've got this."

"You sure?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah, I got this," he repeated, listening, as Daryl's footsteps dissipate into the darkness.

Periodically, the sound of her weeping found him where he stood, causing his heart to clinch, and his eyes to well with understanding. He would stand out here, supporting her, for as long as it took. Rick knew she would have never asked him to stay. That wasn't her way. But, he had no intentions of leaving her. He vacillated between running to her, and holding back to give her room to process what had happened in her own way.

Lighter, steady, footsteps pick up volume as they closed in on him.

"Dad?" Carl called out, walking up to Rick, a sleepy Judith in his arms. "We've got to get Michonne to go home. It's freezing out here."

"I know," he replied, exhaling slowly, wondering how life had taken them to this point. He was grateful for the second chance at friendship Michonne had given him. The time spent outside her orbit had been proof enough that he was rudderless without her. He was gratified to be able to give her solace now, to be there for her in the ways she had always been there for him, even during their discord.

"Yeah, let's go get her," Rick said, hushing his rapidly beating heart, as they walked towards Michonne.

Michonne never turned to look, but she knew Rick was there, standing vigil. This knowledge brought her more comfort than she would have openly admitted. She wanted to turn around, tell him she was ok. Tell him to go home and get some rest after this horrifying day. But, she didn't. She couldn't. As her very pores cried out, expelling their grief, the silent comfort his nearness provided, felt like her only lifeline.

Clad only in jeans, her signature black boots, and his jacket, shielding her like a talisman, she knelt in the rapidly cooling dirt. The icy earth seeped through her pants, chilling her bones and causing her teeth to chatter. She couldn't help but go back to the night when they had all been subjugated, on their knees, forced to pay an devastating tribute to Negan and the Saviors. The fright had been the same. As had the anger.

And so, she knelt there, in front of their makeshift memorial, dejected and bewildered. Her mind a muddled mass of confusion, darting back and forth, desperately seeking an anchor to pacify her thoughts.

How could this man, who had inexplicably burrowed his way into her heart be gone? This man who had taken her bundle of worry and placed it on his back? This man who had known all about her transgressions, yet always looked at her as if the sun rose and fell in her raven-colored eyes. This man who, not because he wasn't jealous, but because he _loved_ her, accepted Rick and his children into their lives.

She mourned for the man who had surprised her with the depth of his feelings. Who had helped her heal after so much loss. Her thoughts drifted to all she had loved and lost. Andre. Mike. Andrea. Hershel. Glenn. Abraham. Sasha. It was too much. She wanted to cry to the heavens, shake her fists for an answer as to why. She'd done everything she could to keep all that she loved and cherished safe. It was, however, not enough. It dawned on her that it might never be.

But, she counted her blessings for all the people who had left imprints on her heart, as well as those that were nevertheless here, continuing to show her how much she was loved. As her mind drifted to Rick, Carl, and Judith, she sensed the shift in the air as they walked towards her. Rick got to her first, dropping to his knees on her right side, grabbing her shoulders, and pulling her to him.

Carl took her other side, crouching next to her, Judith cuddled in his arms. Upon seeing Michonne, Judith leaned into her, giving her a sweet kiss, and opening her arms to be held. Michonne sat back on her calves, tugging Judith over and nestling her in her arms.

"I just wanted to bring her out to say goodnight," Carl said. "If it's ok with you, I'll take her over to your house for the night. Her playpen's already there, so we're pretty much set."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Michonne replied, giving Judith another kiss.

"Let me take her," Rick interjected, knowing Carl wanted to spend some time alone with Michonne. "I'll put her to bed. Just don't be out here too long."

He stood up and stepped behind Michonne, reaching for a suddenly very alert Judith.

"No!" the upset little girl shouted, clinging to Michonne. "Wanna stay with Meesown. No go bye-bye."

"It's ok baby," Michonne said, Judith's waterworks causing her own to reappear. "Please go with daddy. I'll be there in a little while."

"Promish?" Judith pleaded, eyes full of tears.

"Promise," Michonne answered. Mollified for the moment, Judith leaned in for another kiss, placing her chubby hands on Michonne's cheeks and swiftly wiping the wetness away.

Rick stood up, holding Judith snuggly against his chest, and started walking towards Michonne's house.

* * *

As Rick walked the streets of Alexandria, the silence of the night struck him as appropriate, as if it too were paying homage to today's loss. Striding past his own home, he saw that the porch lights were now off, but a solitary light was visible in the living room. it flashed in his mind that maybe he should stop and go in for a while. But, he didn't. Instead, choosing to continue on to Michonne's.

Arriving at her house, he climbed the stairs to the porch. Shifting Judith to his other arm, he turned the door knob, entering the dark, sullen house. Stepping into the foyer, Judith yawned loudly, resting her cheek on Rick's shoulder.

"Meesown 'ouse for night-night?" the tired child asked.

"Yeah, we're stayin' at Michonne's for night-night," he replied.

Seemingly pleased with the answer, she let out another big yawn, before tunneling more deeply into her father's arms.

Walking further into the house, Rick felt a charged energy coursing through the walls as he made his way through the living room, pausing to pick up one of Judith's red cups from the fireplace mantel, on his way past the dining room, and into the kitchen.

Looking around the kitchen, he took in remnants of the cake Michonne had been making for Judith's birthday. A small, sad smile crossed his lips as he envisioned Michonne and his children laughing together as they prepared for Judith's party. His expression took on a pensive sheen as he realized how that moment was so cruelly cut short. He had thought about taking Carl and Judith home tonight, but realized that there was no way he could leave Michonne alone, and the only way to justify _his_ presence, was for them to stay there as well.

Hearing the soft snores emanating from his daughter, he grabbed her playpen from kitchen, and pushed it into a darkened corner in the living room. By the time he had set it up with pillows and blankets, Judith had begun snoring more deeply. He gently lowered her into the bedding, covered her with a blanket, and tucked her favorite stuffed lamb by her side.

Walking back into the kitchen, he looked over the ingredients of the cake Michonne had been making for Judith. Not knowing quite what to do, he gathered the empty bowls and dumped them in the sink with the utensils, then put what looked to be the beginnings of a batter into the refrigerator. He took a few minutes to wash the dishes, clear and wipe the countertops, as well as sweep flour from the floor. Satisfied with his efforts, he went to sit on the couch in the living and wait for Michonne and Carl to return.

Sitting there, the only light coming from the front porch, he couldn't help smiling, remorsefully, as he thought about how much they'd been through together and how she had remained true to him and his children, even when he had not always done the same. His smile morphed into a grimace as he recalled the pain he had caused her during their early days in Alexandria and how hard they had both worked, for the sake of their family, for the community, to come to a mutual understanding and appreciation.

He felt unworthy, but blessed. Blessed that her kind soul would not allow her to shut Carl and Judith out of her life, even when she didn't always want him there as well. In that moment, alone on that couch, waiting for her and Carl to come home, the realization of his love for her swept over him, causing his heart to ache at the mistakes he had made, and how her generosity had saved him.

* * *

She felt the warmth radiating from Carl as he shuffled to the right, moving closer to her, lifting his arm to drape it over her shoulders. She raised her right hand, clasping it around his. The love and devotion from this young man meant the world to her.

"You know, I used to think that the worst day of my life was the day my mom died," Carl began. "But, I was wrong."

She turned to face him, confused as to where he was going with this.

"The actual worst day of my life, was the day I thought we had lost Judith," he continued, taking in her mystified expression.

"Do you want to know why?" he asked.

Pausing to acknowledge her nod, he continued, "because, that was the day that I thought I had lost the last link to my mom. Even though she'll never really know her or remember her, Judith is the last piece of my mom, besides me, that still exists."

There she sat, vision blurry and eyes teeming with tears, stunned into muteness, steadily trying to absorb the truth of his words.

"You just gotta remember, you _still_ have a link to him," Carl said. "You always will."

Facing the wall, he continued, "when you told me about Andre, I was honored. It meant so much to me that you trusted _me_. When we were clearing that house, the first thing that came to mind was that I hoped Andre and Judith were somewhere together. But, I also hoped that my mom was there too, so she could take care of them."

She stared at him. This astonishing young man, who saw to her core. She knew that, like his father, words didn't always come easy. But when they did come, the poignancy often brought her to her knees. He had more he wanted to say, she could tell. She wanted him to say his peace, and so, she waited patiently on that frigid soil, for him to continue.

"When I first saw you at the fence… at the prison., I don't know… there was something pulling me and telling me to go help you, so I did. When we got here, I felt like I was losing you. I know you and my dad weren't getting along, and even though I didn't really know why, it scared me. I was afraid you'd leave and I wouldn't see you again. I'd lose another link. And for a while, I didn't see you as much as before."

He dipped his chin into his chest, trying to keep the tears at bay and hidden from her.

"All I knew was that I didn't want to be out of your life and I didn't want you to be out of ours. It meant everything when you and Dad agreed to let us figure out how to make this work. And it does work. That's meant _everything_ to me."

Lifting his tear-lined face to take a glimpse of her, he said, "I love you, Michonne. And, I can– No, I _won't_ let you do this alone. I won't allow it."

She gave him a rueful smile and playfully asked, "so, I guess I don't get a choice, huh?"

"No, you don't," he answered, taking her hand from his shoulder. He rose up from the ground, drawing her up with him.

"I love you too, Carl," she said, smiling through her tears. Returning her grin, he tenderly linked his arm through hers, pulled her forward, and walked her home.

* * *

Her arm tucked under his own, Carl guided Michonne into her house. He held onto her as she stood in the foyer, soundlessly taking in the fact that she was returning to the home they had shared, but, without him. Gathering her bearings, she thought back to Scott's unceremonious visit to her doorstep earlier that day. How it had turned her life upside down, leaving her emotionally wasted, and unable to even think of what would come next. In that moment, she gave thanks to Carl's empathetic touch, as he stoically stood next to her, like a soldier, shielding her from this misery.

Stepping through the foyer, an odd quietude shrouded the space. The pronounced absence of the usual laughter and lightness she had grown so accustomed to when entering the home caught her by surprise. Somehow, even the _air_ smelled different, her nose registering a nuanced change in scent, caused, she couldn't help thinking, by his sudden departure.

Arm in arm, they walked into the living room, where Rick lay dozing on the couch, one arm stretched out over his head, his hand over his face, as Judith slept soundly in her playpen in the corner. The view gave buoyancy to Michonne's downtrodden spirit.

Feeling wonderment in the few moments of calm this lightness of being had granted her, she surveyed the room, eyes ricocheting, no particular direction in mind, landing on reminders of him tucked into corners everywhere. It was inconceivable that the joy which had reigned throughout the house only a few hours prior, was now bridled, suppressed into bleakness.

Taking a step further into the living room, the creak of a loose floorboard jostled Rick from his sleep.

"Hey," Rick rasped, his body aching with fatigue as he lifted his head from the arm of the sofa. "Did y'all just get in?"

"Yeah," Carl answered, giving Michonne's arm a tight squeeze, before releasing it, and walking past his father and towards the kitchen.

Michonne walked in front of Rick, taking a seat on the coffee table directly across from him. From her perch, she watched Carl grab a glass from an upper cabinet, and fill it with water from the tap. He drank it in quick gulps, rinsing it out before placing in the drying rack. He then returned to the living room, standing next to Michonne.

"I'm taking Judith upstairs to sleep," Carl said. "She always wakes up when she's not in a _real_ bed."

This drew genuine smiles from around the room, as they thought about the delightfully idiosyncratic ways of their lovely, little Judith. Noting a more harmonious aura in the room, Carl walked over to the playpen, bending down to pick Judith up, and slinging her over his shoulder. He soothed her by gently swaying back and forth, patting her back, as he made his way up the stairs.

"'Night, son," Rick called out.

"Goodnight dad," Carl replied. "Goodnight Michonne."

"Goodnight my dear," she answered.

Watching Carl disappear up the stairs, Michonne rose from the coffee table and walked towards the kitchen; Rick fell into step behind her. She could see as she crossed the dining room's threshold, that the kitchen had been cleaned and swept; the island had been cleared.

"What'd you do with the cake batter?" Michonne asked, walking towards the sink to wash her hands.

"Put it in the fridge," he replied.

Turning on the tap, she looked down at her muck-caked hands and fingernails, surprised by the sight, unable to recall how they had gotten so dirty. She turned up the tap's temperature, thoroughly lathering her hands with soap. Washing slowly, she kept her eyes on the sink's drain, watching as bits of dirt from her hands mixed with the cleanser, hypnotizing her, as the foam circled down the drain, taking the filth with it.

Drying her hands on the dish towel hanging from a hook next to the sink, she walked over to the oven and turned it on. Confused, he said nothing as she bent down to take two rectangular cake pans out from the lower cabinets, placing them on the island. A slow realization came over him. As she moved towards the refrigerator, he walked around the island to stop her.

"Chonne? C'mon now. This ain't necessary. We don't need to have the party tomorrow. Let's just take a moment to catch our breath."

She let out an exasperated sigh and raised her eyes to meet his, the first time she'd done so since entering the house. He stared at her, the salt from tears long-dried, had left jagged, ashen smudges across her cheeks and down to her chin.

"Judith's birthday is tomorrow," she said, sternly. "I _won't_ let anything ruin it for her."

Flabbergasted, he could only watch as she sidestepped him, opening the refrigerator to pull out the mixing bowl Rick had previously covered and placed on the shelf. She set it on the counter next to the cake pans. He studied her, mesmerized as she went about the rote task of baking a birthday cake amid the sadness permeating the room.

Shaking his head slightly, he walked over to the pantry to grab the latest concoction from Eugene, oil from the soy beans they had harvested that fall. He walked over to work next to her in silence, drizzling a bit of oil in each pan, waiting for her slight nod as approval, then using his fingers to spread the oil across the pan.

Michonne sifted flour into the egg and honey mixture, then reached over to grab a few tablespoons of melted goat's milk butter and some homemade lemon extract to add to the bowl. A dash of vanilla and a vigorous stir completed the recipe. Rick stepped aside as she tilted the mixture into one of the rectangular cake pans, then the other. He opened the oven door, letting her slide the cakes into the heat, before she set the timer and turned back to look at him.

"I'm going to sit down for a bit," she said, breezing past him on her way to the living room.

Not knowing what else to do, he decided to go upstairs to check on Carl and Judith.

Instead of the couch, she opted to take a seat in one of the Ikat-patterned wingback chairs framing the living room's book shelves. As she prepared to sit down, she noticed a book propped on the chair's armrest. This had been his favorite spot to sit and read in the evenings. He would have usually taken whatever book had caught his fancy up to bed with him. Picking up the book, she sat down, feeling strangely comforted. She opened the book, balancing it on the arm of the chair.

 _He must have forgotten to bring it up to bed._

Moving the book to her lap, she let her eyes flit across the pages. Her unexpected calm continued as she flipped through the book. She didn't know what to make of it, so she sunk deeper into the chair, slowly working her way towards the page that he had dog-eared. This made her smile. They had bickered over whether or not dog-earing was _acceptable_ as a page marker, or if wouldn't be much better to simply use a scrap of paper to mark progress. He had been a firm believer in dog-ears, while she had had a divergent opinion.

 _It all seems so silly now._

She quickly scanned the pages, desperate to find a sign of what he might have read that last night. Begging for just a glimpse of any essence of him that might persist in this world. The minute she came to the passage on the dog-eared page, she knew this was it. The last thing he had read, and it had been one of her favorites.

 _This is so like him_ , she smiled, dormant tears, once again, finding their way out of hibernation.

 _Don't leave me, even for an hour, because_

 _then the little drops of anguish will all run together,_

 _the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift_

 _into me, choking my lost heart._

A soft knock on the doorway separating the dining and living rooms shook her from her musings. The tears had come again, but this time, her body did not shake. These were indebted tears, thankful ones that fell, like a waterfall, down her cheeks and onto the open pages of the book. Gratified that, though their time together was short, it had been meaningful. Purposeful. She said a silent pray, sharing her appreciation with the universe.

Eyes still on the page, she heard the distinctive staccato of his boots as he made his way to her, taking a seat at her feet, placing his right hand on her knee, and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"What can I do?" Rick asked, gazing up into her weary eyes. "Carl and Judith are sacked out on the bed in your guest room, so figured I'd come back down and check in, see what you need."

Almost too tired to speak, she reached for his hand, gripping it in hers.

"Just sit with me," she whispered.

Maybe, she was being a little selfish. He _should_ go home. But, she couldn't bear to be without them. Without him. Not today. Today, she needed them. She needed him.

And for him, there was nowhere else he'd rather be. She looked depleted, spent. But he knew her, so he braced himself for the question he had been waiting for her to ask, ever since they drove through Alexandria's gates. He knew that she was tired, but sleep would not find her without the details of how this wretched day had unfolded.

"What happened, Rick?" she asked. "I need to know."

Taking a deep breath, he started where he knew he should.

"Spencer did _everythin'_ he could to get back home to you."

 **A/N** : The poem is an excerpt from "Don't Go Far Off" by Pablo Neruda, one of my favorite poets of all time.


	3. A Good Man

" _Michonne made me promise this would be my last run," Spencer said, looking over at Rick, trying to gauge the older man's reaction._

 _Rick turned his head, momentarily taking his eyes off the road, to glance at the younger man in the passenger seat. He caught a surprising spark of amusement in Spencer's eyes. While Scott and Tobin rested in the van's cargo hold, Rick and Spencer had opted to take the first driving shift of their run to the construction site. They chatted to kill time, both knowing to keep the conversation light and easy._

 _After more than a few runs and missions together, they had grown accustomed to each other's proclivities._ _And over the past several months, had surprisingly slipped into a more relaxed rapport. Theirs would never be a deep friendship, but, what they did have was good enough to withstand confinement in the van's front seats. In truth, if it ensured the happiness of the woman they both loved, they were committed to sustaining some pretense of an alliance._

 _He was intrigued by Spencer's comment, but didn't feel like engaging him. Spencer smiled broadly, ostensibly recollecting the exact words of his conversation with Michonne._ _Unclear as to what exactly had pleased the man so, but knowing it was likely some inside joke between he and Michonne, Rick assumed it was something that wouldn't exactly delight himself. So, he opted to let Spencer's response dissipate into the dank air swirling around them as they sat, each other's captive audience, in the cab of the van._

 _Even though he hasn't responded to Spencer's quip, Rick internally agreed with Michonne's sentiments. Runs like this were quickly becoming less and less common. It had been nearly a year since they ended Negan's reign and took back control of Alexandria. In that time, the walls had been expanded significantly, adding farming areas and livestock, as well as additional housing._

 _More housing allowed them to recruit at a faster clip. Rick thought about the people Daryl and Aaron had brought back and how many of the new ones had made Alexandria even more formidable. Back at the barn, Aaron had been right. It was all about having people. Begrudgingly, he had to admit this included the man to his right, who had evolved from the brash hothead he had first encountered, to someone he knew would sacrifice just as much as he himself would for their community._

 _The rest of the trip to the construction site was uneventful, allowing them to get to work almost immediately. They easily located and loaded the thin, square metal sheets needed to patch the walls. After spending a majority of the day sifting through equipment and other useful odds and ends, they loaded the van, planning to spend the next day assessing the site for other potential finds that could be retrieved at a later date._

 _As the sunlight of the first day waned, they built out a perimeter made of posts found at the site, strung cans across them, and erected tents from the tarps and blankets packed for the run. Not exactly luxurious, but good enough for a two-night stay._

 _The sun had yet to make its appearance, when static from the walkie-talkie near his head woke Spencer up. Discombobulated and sore from a night spent in an awkward sleeping position, Spencer flipped on his flashlight and checked his watch. 5:30. Resetting the dial on the walkie-talkie, a muffled voice crackled through, disrupting the pre-dawn peace, and waking the other three men._

" _Ran into trouble. We need ya guys here. Hurry!"_

" _What the hell's going on?" Scott asked._

" _Not sure, but that was Daryl," Spencer replied. "Something's wrong. Let's pack up and go. I'll drive."_

 _The outpost was a little over an hour away, but if Daryl and team were under attacked, they all worried it would be too late to reach them in time. On the way, they repeatedly tried contacting Daryl and the rest, but to no avail. Dread began to set in as they neared the outpost. When they were a few minutes away, the walkie-talkie suddenly came back to life._

"' _We're cornered in a back room," Daryl croaked. "Straight shot from the front and towards the left. Got hit the minute we walked in. Three of 'em. Fuckin' bastards. Still yellin' 'I'm Negan' or some bullshit. Got all of 'em, but they set up a tr– y'all need to wa–"_

 _The transmitter went quiet. There was no way to know for certain what they were walking into, but they had no choice. They would have to walk in blind._

* * *

" _Sit tight, I'll be back!" Daryl rasped, plucking Rick from his daydream._

 _Giving him a quick nod, Daryl used his right hand to push himself off the back bumper of the van, slamming the door closed behind him, and sealing Rick and Spencer in the safety of the van's interior. Spinning around to the passenger side, he rushed over to help Tara and Heath dispatch the last of the walkers blocking the outpost's exit._

 _The reverberation of the door banging shut, caused the van to shake violently, pitching from side to side, as its antiquated axles groaned in complaint. A rattled Rick, crouched below the porthole cut into the van's partition, lost his bearings in the commotion, and came down hard on his knees. As pain shot through his right knee and up into the broad bone of his thigh, he cried out in pain. Pinpricks of light flashed across his line of vision as he sucked in a deep, strained breath, the remnants of his battle with Negan, once again, flaring up._

 _Shaking off the searing ache forcing its way through his entire leg and into his spine, Rick looked downward, returning his attention to a shivering, semi-conscious Spencer. A lump formed in Rick's throat as he watched Spencer writhe in pain, panting and sweating profusely. He knew anything he could do would be inadequate, but he reached out to provide what little quiet comfort he could. His hand landed on Spencer's shoulder, rubbing it slowly, as he sought to bring some relief to the fallen man._

 _The crew was my responsibility and I didn't keep 'im safe, Rick thought. What'll I tell her?  
_

 _As soon as he had realized how bad Spencer's injury was, even before they had all made it out of the outpost's entrance, he had shouted for Scott, Tobin, and Jacob to take the other van back to Alexandria, wanting to make sure they were prepared in the off chance they could help Spencer._

 _His panic boiled over at the thought of having to tell Michonne what had happened, causing his stomach to spasm and attempt to reject its contents. Hopelessness permeated his very being as his mind raced back and forth, trying to come up with something… anything… to save him._

 _As Spencer moaned incoherently, Rick continued doing all he could to ease his torment, but the futility of such an exercise was evident. Rick, stooped over in the fetid heat of the van, tears dusting his cheeks, thoughts only of Michonne, and her inevitable sorrow._

 _Bringing this to her doorstep shattered him. It seemed incomprehensible that the run had turned so disastrous. Sitting there, contemplating their return home, Rick's mind traveled back to when he had last seen her, at the gate, before their departure._

* * *

 _Rick hadn't meant to watch them. He rarely could tolerate doing so, as the ache in his chest became ever more pronounced whenever he did. But, it was in these lonely moments, by himself in the driver's seat of the run van,_ _waiting for the others to finish packing up, that he found he couldn't help it. His mind brazenly wouldn't allow his_ _eyes to leave her._

 _And so, he sat there, watching Michonne and Spencer's goodbyes through the rear-view mirror. After all this time, he had assumed it would get easier, but it hadn't. Even so, Rick found himself curiously soothed by the gnawing pang that seeing Michonne with Spencer caused him. It felt like a just punishment, even if he was the only one who knew it._

 _Watching Spencer smile at her, stroke her arm, lean in to kiss her, was... torture. His heart clinched, making the pain a physical one. But, she was happy. Of that, he was sure. She was where she wanted to be. As difficult of an insight this was for Rick, as wistful as he was, he truly was happy that she was happy._

 _But, knowing and feeling were two disparate things. The awareness that, though they were once again close, there would always be a barrier. She would never be his. At least, not in the way his heart desired._

 _Rick fought mightily to keep the emotions from bubbling to the surface. With his sight still trained on them, he swallowed the bile erupting from the depths of his belly, acknowledging he had no right to feel this way, but knowing it couldn't be helped. As much joy as her happiness brought him, he wished things were different. But, he pushed down those thoughts, as he watched Spencer walk towards the van, ready to leave for their run._

* * *

 _His mind was transported back to the van's interior, Rick, gazing at a lethargic Spencer, noted how everything seemed ringed in silence. Aside from Spencer's strained breathing, all was still. Trying to shake the eerie, uneasy feeling, Rick was jolted by the van's back door suddenly bursting open._

 _Daryl, bloody and mired in filth, holding his left arm against his torso, barreled into the van, howling in agony, as he tumbled forward. Reaching his right arm behind him, he grabbed the door handle, and roughly slammed it shut. The movement disturbed Spencer, causing Rick to give Spencer's shoulder a reassuring pat, calming the agitated man._

" _Easy Daryl," Rick grumbled. "Christ."_

 _Ignoring Rick's comment, Daryl bent down towards Spencer, their heads nearly touching, hurriedly asking, "Hey man, how's it?'_

 _Rick stayed in his upright position, watching their exchange. He couldn't hear Spencer's murmured responses, but did catch Daryl nodding, as if in agreement. He watched as Daryl reached for Spencer's hand, marveling at the 'odd couple' relationship between the 'redneck' and the 'frat boy'._

 _Leaning closer to the two of them, Rick heard Spencer whisper to Daryl, "Can you tell Michonne tha– that I loved her without knowing how?" Smiling briefly, he added, "she'll know what it means."_

 _Daryl mumbled a response that didn't quite reach Rick, still straining to comprehend the men's conversation._

"… _a brother in all of this?" Spencer said, raising his eyebrows in wonder._

 _Rick caught Daryl's eyes, observing that his tears teetered at the precipice._

" _I promise to getcha back to 'er," Daryl declared._

" _I know," Spencer wheezed, the magnitude of his suffering evident in each labored word._

 _Rick could only look on as Spencer, chest heaving, drifted out of consciousness. Noticing the change, Daryl pounded on the van's partition, shouting to Tara in the driver's seat,_

" _C'mon. Let's get the fuck out of here!"_

 _Shifting his gaze from Spencer, Rick's eyes reconnected with Daryl's. Both quietly acknowledged their dire situation, and prayed they would be able to get Spencer back home to Michonne in time._

 _Once they had gotten far enough away from the outpost and the gaggle of walkers still pacing its grounds, Tara stopped the van on the side of the road, allowing them to regroup and plot out the fastest route back to Alexandria. They knew if they took the same route home, they likely wouldn't make it in time._

 _Rick stayed in the back of the van with Spencer, while Daryl left to discuss options with Tara and Heath. Where they were parked was deserted, so Rick could hear the conversation as Daryl leaned into the open driver's side window to talk to Tara._

 _According to their map, there was a detour that would save time, but hadn't yet been cleared. It was hilly, and would likely burn gas and tax the aging van, but could save them several hours of travel. They opined that Tobin  
would have likely opted for this shorter route; it made sense to follow the same path._

 _Satisfied they had come to the right conclusion, Rick redirected his attention to Spencer, lying next to him, mostly mute. As he watched over him, Rick noticed his spurts of lucidity, where he would suddenly start talking clearly, seemed to have subsided. As he prepared to call out to Tara to get on the road, Spencer once again crawled out of his stupor and opened his eyes, locking into Rick's and startling the older man._

" _How much time?" Spencer asked, his eyes pleading for an answer._

" _Just breathe," Rick said. "You need to stay calm, conserve energy. We'll make it."_

 _Spencer's piercing gaze held Rick in place, an undercurrent of angst holding both in its grip._

" _Yeah," Spencer said, nodding as he continued to study Rick. "I'm not sure I ever had her whole heart, but… I had enough."_

 _Rick was stupefied, not wanting to join the path he now suspected Spencer was on._

" _You had all of it," Rick replied. "Michonne doesn't do anythin' halfway. If she's with you, she's with you. And Spencer, she's with you."_

" _She loves you too," Spencer said, holding Rick captive. "I've known it from the beginning. Used to break my heart, if I'm being honest. I know she loved me too. Felt it every day, in every way. I know what you guys had was… different.  
I didn't like it, but I accepted it. I accepted it because, if that was the price of loving her, I was willing to pay it."_

 _Rick stared at him, floored._

" _I know a little about what happened between you two. Michonne didn't like to talk about it much and I never wanted to pry."_

 _Rick averted his eyes._

" _If this is the end for me, I need to know you'll take care of her. She'll fight you on it, because of your... I just need you to do this for her."_

 _Rick was shamed by Spencer's words._

" _With the baby coming, she'll need help, even though she'll refuse to ask for it."_

 _Rick's eyes shot to Spencer's._

" _You didn't know?" Spencer asked, chuckling softly. "She tells you everything, I just assumed… Anyway, that's what she meant by 'restarting civilization.' She wanted me to take fewer risks, for the baby, and for her."_

 _Locking eyes with Rick, he made his final plea._

" _Don't let her mourn too long. This life can be brutally short. I don't want her to endure pain longer than she needs to. Longer than she'll want to."_

 _Rick felt the tears leeching down his cheeks, catching in the scruff of his chin._

" _You'll take care of her? The baby?"_

"' _Course I will," Rick replied, resolute. "Spencer, she loves you so much."_

" _How do you know?" Spencer asked, the trepidation clear in his voice._

" _Because, I know her, and so do you," Rick replied. "You know she's honest and loyal, and never says what she doesn't mean. She loves you. I know it, you should too."_

 _Spencer flinched, the pain rippling through his shoulder. He beheld Rick, clear-eyed and assured. He believed him. Nodding his head, Spencer closed his eyes once more, just as Daryl returned to the back of the van._

 _Figuring it would be easier if he sat up front, just in case they ran into trouble, Rick left Daryl to care for Spencer in the back, and joined Tara and Heath in the front seats. Plans in place, they began the final leg of their race back to Alexandria. The race to return Spencer to Michonne._

* * *

Michonne peered down at Rick from her perch in the chair, still clinging to the book of poetry in her hand; her other hand encircled by both of Rick's. She leaned back in the chair, causing Rick's hands to slack a bit, but he rejected the notion of relinquishing his hold. She tipped her head back, all cried out, steeped in the solemnity of Spencer's words to Rick.

The revelation didn't come as a surprise to Michonne. Honesty about her bond with the Grimes had been an immovable cornerstone of her relationship with Spencer. An aspect that, while she knew Spencer didn't relish, he gave to her willingly. One of the reasons she found it so easy to fall for him.

She couldn't help but also be a little saddened by Spencer's revelations. His fits of jealousy had been infrequent, but tough. He knew she stayed true to her commitment to him, but watching her interact with Rick couldn't have been easy, despite all her reassurances.

The thought of Spencer questioning if she had truly loved him as much as she had shown, tugged at Michonne's heart, pulling her towards the trap of wanting to bury her feelings. It had once been her default emotional response, but was now a lever she purposely avoided.

Stoicism had served her well when she was alone. But this time, she wasn't alone. She had people. Family. She didn't need to hide. She had nothing that needed to be entombed. Instead of bundling her grief and putting it on the shelf, her sorrow-filled eyes turned to Rick, silently asking for help.

He gave it easily and willingly. In that moment, the cries she had vanquished returned, as a waterfall of tears floated down her cheek. He rose to his knees and tried using the pads of his thumbs to whisk away the tears from her cheek, but the flow proved too fast for him to catch it all. And so, he let her cry. Let the toxicity of her grief drain away, giving light to her wounds, and allowing them the chance to heal.

"He always doubted himself," she quietly said, shaking her head in wonder. "He felt he wasn't good enough. But, he was. He'd ask me why I loved him. I wished so much that he understood that I truly _loved_ him. Somehow, I don't know if he believed it. Believed me. He was a good man who gave me back something I thought I'd never have again. Especially not in this world."

Rick's eyes never left her face, waiting patiently as she worked through her feelings on the terrible trajectory of this day. He loved her, so he sat and listened carefully, hunting for bits and pieces of comfort he could send her way. Any serenity he could bring to her torment. It wasn't easy hearing her speak like this about another man, but the anguish was written all over her face and stopped his heart cold. He needed to sit there and bear witness.

As he watched her entire body vibrate with sobs, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her, but worried it was not place. His heart aching at the sight of her, he finally chose to throw caution to the wind, reaching up to pulling her from the chair and down to him. As he opened up his arms, she reached out for him. He gently gripped her shoulder and pulled her up so that they were both on their knees. One arm wrapped around her waist as he placed the other behind her head and softly pulled it towards his chest. He could feel her tremble as she cried. She could feel his racing heartbeat against her cheek.

This wasn't their first embrace, but this one held the special value of deep understanding and comfort. She clung to him like a thin reed steeling itself against heavy winds. He held onto her just as closely.

"I'm so sorry" he repeated, the words taking up all the space between. His hand moved from her waist to rub comforting circles between her shoulder blades.

As her tears began to subside, Rick whispered, "I'm here and I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

She gazed at him, finding solace in his words.

She continued, "I knew he wasn't exactly like us, but he tried so, so hard... I tho– I thought I could take care of the rest. Keep us safe. Keep him safe. I couldn't. "

"I hope you know how much he loved you" he said, offering her a weak smile. "I'm not sure what to say about a man that let _me_ stick around after all…" gesturing between the two of them, then dropping his eyes.

"After all've this… mess I made. Havin' my kids around. I know I couldn't've done it," Rick croaked, the last few words a muddled stuttered. "He was a good man."

He leaned back against the chair, coaxing her to lay her head on his chest. He held her, rocking her slowly, until he felt her hiccupped breathing subside, replaced by more steady inhales and exhales. When he was sure she had fallen asleep, he wrapped her in his arms and carried her to the couch, laying her down gently and pulling the blankets from Judith's playpen to wrap around her deflated body.

He briefly considered going upstairs to sleep in the guest room with his kids, but couldn't imagine leaving her alone. He decided instead to push back the coffee table, settling onto the rug beneath it. Facing Michonne, within arm's reach, Rick leaned back on his side, arm underneath his head. He lifted his hand to intertwine it in hers, she instinctively took it, never stirring from her slumber.

The floor was harsh and unyielding to his back, but he was committed to keeping vigil while she slept. And so, he did, his mind, as it inevitably did these days, jumped back to the day they all slipped through the gates of Alexandria. He now acknowledged how that fateful decision influenced everything that came afterwards, and had been instrumental in bringing them to this point. His mind drifted back to stories Deanna had shared with he and Michonne about her impressions of their group's first days in Alexandria. He closed his eyes, those thoughts floating in his sub-consciousness, and allowed sleep to swiftly overtake him.

* * *

 _From her perch at a window on the second floor of her home, Deanna inspected the people Aaron was presently leading through the gates of the Alexandria Safe-Zone. It was a surprisingly large group, which alarmed her a bit. It had been a long time since they had allowed anyone new to grace their threshold._

 _The decision to allow Aaron to return to recruiting rested worryingly on her shoulders. She had been wrong before, and wasn't sure if her community could survive another error. But, she did pride herself on being an astute judge of character._

 _Deanna scanned the crowd, her eyes darting from person to person, taking in the ragtag bunch. Using her keen sense of group interactions, she studied them as they stood, clearly agitated, while Aaron explained the community rules._

 _Her eyes easily fell on the slim, bow-legged man with the grizzly beard, standing rod-straight in the center of the fray. Though he held a baby cradled in his arms, not exactly a dangerous pose, but she could sense his authority without seeing him clearly or having spoken to him._

 _Interesting, she thought._

 _She observed the rest of his group strategically fanning out around him, like a Royal Guard protecting the King. It was fascinating to watch from above, knowing her vantage point gave her a unique perspective on their dynamics._

 _Her view of the Leader was hijacked by a younger man, perhaps a boy, in a Sheriff's hat. The boy leaned in a take the baby from the man's arms, then stayed standing directly next to him._

 _Has to be someone very dear to him, she thought._

 _The young man was then displaced by a very thin, fit, black woman. She pulled the hat off the boy's head, tucking it under her arm as she swung her arm over his shoulders and pulled him and the baby closer to her. With an intimidating sword at her back, Deanna noted how their guards included the woman in the safety circle they had created around the Leader and the boy._

 _The woman leaned into the Leader to whisper something in his ear, piquing Deanna's interest in the nature of their relationship. Intrigued, Deanna began preparing to make her way downstairs, anticipating Aaron would soon bring the group to her for interviews._

 _Hearing a loud 'Who's Deanna' bellowed from outside, she took this as her cue. Notebook in hand, and knowing Aaron would bring the Leader to see her first, she descended the stairs, and walked out onto her porch to greet the new group._

 _Opening her front door, her first glance was towards Aaron, not too worse for the wear, at least in comparison to the shockingly unkempt man he was walking towards her door. She had missed a few details from her distant initial view of him. She locked in on his crystal blue eyes, swimming in a grime-strewn sea. Watching his eyes dart back and forth between her and… everything else, was mesmerizing._

 _Reaching her hand out to him, she said "Hi, I'm Deanna Monroe. Welcome to the Alexandria Safe-Zone."_

" _Rick Grimes," he replied, ignoring her outstretched hand._

 _Pausing a few seconds, she realized he had no intention of shaking her hand, nor being any more forthcoming, so, she dropped her hand and gave him a small smile._

" _Ok," she finally said, opening the front door more widely and ushering him into her home. "Come on in. Let's have a chat."_

 _She walked through the foyer and into the living room, slowly taking a seat on the leather couch and signaling for him to take a seat in one of the Ikat-print wingback chairs stationed across from her. Dismissing her gesture, Rick cased the room, stomping around like a lion hunting prey, his eyes everywhere at once, never finding a clear target on which to land. Finally, he found his way to the small sitting area next to the front window._

" _Do you mind if I film this, Rick?" Deanna asked._

 _Turning slowly towards her, gripping the wall briefly, then leaving a muck-streaked stain when he released it, he asked,_

" _Why do you need to film this? What for?"_

" _This community is all about transparency," she replied, smiling. "Are you ok with getting started?"_

 _Pausing to acknowledge his half shrug, half nod, she turned on the camera and began._

" _Have you been out there since the beginning?"  
_

" _Pretty much."_

" _Did any of you know each other from before, or did you fi–"_

" _None of us knew each other," he interrupted._

 _She grinned at his abruptness, and said, "Why don't I tell you a little bit about myself?"_

 _Not waiting for him to respond, she began,_

" _I was a Congresswoman, 15th district, Ohio. My husband, Reg, and I, along with our two boys, were on our way from DC back home to help our district through this… well, I guess we didn't know what it was then. In any case, we didn't make it. We were stopped by the Army and told to come here. They said they'd come back for us. Never did. What about you. What did you do… before?"_

" _Doesn't matter," he replied._

" _Oh, yes it does. It matters now, more than ever."_

 _Sidestepping her comment, he asked, "what's this place?"_

" _Can't you tell?" she teased. "It's the dawn of 'Sustainability.' Or, at least that's what the pamphlets we found said. For only $800,000, you too could have lived in a community with its own, fully integrated grid, solar-only power, eco sewage filtration, group maintain community gardens, and on, and on… Wonderful, right? Can you believe they sold they sold them all?"_

" _What about the walls?" he asked. "Did you do that?"_

 _Nodding, she continued, "this place had supplies and pretty much everything we needed. My husband Reg was an Architect, even taught it at Georgetown. We found this massive shopping mall a few miles away that was still under construction. Reg and our two boys put up the first section of the wall. Soon, more people came… they helped… and, before we knew it, we had a community."_

" _And Rick, who Reg is or was mattered." she concluded. "It mattered quite a bit. That's why who you were, who the people in your group were, matters. We need people who've been out there. For this community to thrive, we need people. Your group is the first one we've even thought about bringing into our community in a long time."_

" _Well, you should keep your gates closed," he stated._

 _Puzzled, she waited patiently for him to continue._

" _Anyone who's out there right now, is just about survival. Survival at any cost. It's not the weak surviving now. They'll be checking out where you're soft, or any other way in, just to take what you've built. That's what winnin' looks like in this world."_

" _So, I shouldn't let you and your group in? You're saying I can't trust you?"_

" _I'm saying, you can't trust anyone. I've done terrible things. Those people out there? They're my family, and I'll do anything to keep them safe. I've killed for them. I don't even know how many times, but, I know why. I did it to keep them alive."_

" _Well then, I'm pretty sure I'd want to be part of your family," she said. Pausing, she added, "I've done things too Rick. We've all done things we never imagined doing in the old world. It's the price of survival."_

" _What've you done?" he asked._

 _Hesitating for a few seconds, she eventually said, "I exiled three men that… didn't quite work out in the community. Sent them to their likely deaths. I had to do it in order to keep this community safe."_

 _She looked past him and out the front window. Watching her for a few beats, and with Michonne's pleas for him to give this a legitimate shot ringing in his ears, Rick acquiesced._

" _I was a Sheriff's Deputy."_

" _I figured," she replied, smiling more broadly. "You're suspicious, cagey. Makes sense."_

 _Taking him in once more, she made up her mind. Exhaling slowly, she said "Ok, we're done here. Let's have Aaron show you to your new home. Welcome to Alexandria."_

 _With the camera still running, Deanna stood up and walked over to Rick, escorting him to the door._

 _Rick waited outside for Carl to finish his interview with Deanna. He stood at the base of the stairs to the Monroe's porch, periodically taking in his surroundings, while looking between Aaron and a clearly nervous Michonne._

 _Michonne turned to catch Rick's expression. He had appeared wary when he walked out of the house, even refused to make eye contact, which was unusual for them. Sighing deeply, her eyes shot to her feet, listening as Aaron continued explaining how Alexandria was governed. His speech was halted when the front door swung open onto a pensive Carl, Judith still in his arms._

" _You ok son?" Rick asked._

 _Carl gave a brief nod, then quietly walked down the stairs._

" _Michonne, why don't you go up?" Aaron asked. "I'll take these two to your houses, and come back to get you when you're done talking to Deanna."_

 _Without answer, Michonne turned to stare at the woman smiling at her from the front door. Glancing briefly at Rick, she gave Carl's shoulder a quick squeeze as she ascended the stairs. Reaching the top, she turned to see Carl, Judith still in his arms, walking down the road with Aaron. Rick stood at the base of the stairs, now looking squarely at Michonne._

" _Ready to go?" Deanna asked, trying to draw Michonne's attention from Rick._

" _Sure," Michonne said, pivoting and following the woman through the front door and into her home._

 _Michonne took a seat in the chair Deanna had pointed out to her, taking in the room as she settled in. She noted books stacked on nearly every surface, a drafting table in the corner by the front window, and coils of drafting paper stuffed into a large basket on the floor. The cool comfort of the lived-in home intrigued her immensely._

" _I used to be a pretty damn good poker player," Deanna started, taking in Michonne's perplexed expression. "But, I'm having a hard time getting a solid read on your group. Rick certainly, but you too. Are you as skeptical as Rick?"_

" _Rick's just concerned that this place is on the up and up, that's all," Michonne answered firmly. "Once he sees it is, he'll be fine."_

" _I see. Thank you for clearing that up. It's helpful to know because I see a lot of potential in your group joining us."_

 _Bemused, Michonne said, "how so? You've barely met us."_

 _Sharing a closed-mouth laugh, Deanna said, "like I said, I'm a damn good poker player."_

 _Understanding Michonne's cue to continue, Deanna asked, "who were you before this?"_

 _The question disquieted Michonne. She'd forgotten what she used to say. Was she a lawyer? A wife? A mother? Not anymore. The automatic boilerplate she would have regurgitated was now meaningless._

 _Deanna's eyes never left hers, so hers didn't waver either. For some reason, she senses a meeting of the minds with Deanna. She felt compelled to answer her questions._

" _I was a mother, a wife, and a lawyer."_

 _Deanna bowed her head and said, "I thought so."_

 _The shared another short laugh._

" _So, what are you now?" Deanna asked._

 _Michonne took a few seconds to contemplate the expected answer to such a question._

 _She finally blurted out, "I'm not sure."_

" _What about Rick and Carl and the baby?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Are you a family?"_

" _We're all family."_

" _Good to know. How old is the baby?"_

" _About 9 months, but we're not exactly keeping time now, so…"_

" _Well, I keep time here, so we'll be sure to celebrate something as monumental as a 1st birthday. We don't get too many of those types of moments anymore."_

" _Yeah, that would be nice," Michonne said, grinning at the thought._

" _Ok Michonne, thank you. This has been really interesting. I think you're going to like it here."_

 _Michonne took in the twinkle in the older woman's eye, encouraged by what she saw there._

" _I think so too," Michonne replied._

 _Standing at the same time, they made their way to the door. As Deanna pushed open the door, Michonne eyes scanned the bottom of the steps, realizing she couldn't see a single member of her group. Overwhelming anxiety seized her heart. It was irrational, but Rick, Carl, Judith, and the rest of the family had rarely been out of her sight in a long time. Not seeing them made her anxious._

 _Scanning the street, she caught a sliver of Aaron turning the corner. Not bothering to say goodbye to Deanna, she rushed down the stairs, catching the blur of someone climbing up the stairs, knocking them to the side of the railing as she reached the bottom, turned, and ran down the street, straining to catch up with Aaron._

" _Hi Spence," Deanna said, greeting her son._

" _Hey Mom," Spencer said, continuing up the stairs, staring back at the dervish that had nearly bowled him over. "Who's that?"_

 _With a mischievous expression on her face, Deanna said, "I'm not sure, but we're going to find out."_

 _Spencer kept his eyes trained on Michonne's departing figure, transfixed, as she turned the corner and faded from his view._

" _Sounds intriguing," he said, a small smile gracing his lips._

* * *

" _We've got plenty of room for all of you to spread out a bit, but I figured you'd be more comfortable starting out with two houses," Aaron said, steadily monitoring Rick's state of mind._

 _He seemed less dangerous than in the barn, but he considered Rick to be incredibly unpredictable. With Michonne being interviewed, he was hesitant to leave Rick to his own devices; Aaron had noted how much calmer Rick was with Michonne in the vicinity._

" _Dad?" Carl called out. "What do you think?"_

 _Rebounding between Carl to Aaron, Rick replied, "don't need two houses. One'll be fine. We'll take that one."_

 _Rick pointed to the three-story home to his left._

" _Great choice," Aaron joked, eyeing Rick. "The curb appeal is phenomenal."_

 _Not getting a response, Aaron continued, "ok, I'm just up the street, three doors down. Come by if you need anything. Either way, I'll come back later to check on how you're settling in."_

 _After watching Aaron walk away, Rick swung his arm around Carl's shoulders, pulling him up the stairs and towards the front door. Opening the door, they stood at the threshold, taking in the clean, gleaming floors and tastefully modern furniture. He could barely wrap his brain around what he was seeing. Carl quickly stepped in, setting Judith on a rug on the floor, as he stepped through the dining room, past the living room, and into the kitchen; Rick trailed behind._

 _Carl went to the sink in the kitchen's center island, lifting the faucet handle and jumping back as water flowed down the drain._

" _Water," Carl said, smiling in wonder. "Can I check this place out?"_

" _Go ahead," Rick answered. "Just take Judith with you."_

 _Walking through the kitchen, Rick noticed the open doors of a bedroom and bathroom next to the staircase. Taking the stairs, he moved through the upper level of the home. Walking to a room at the end of the hall, he opened the door into what appeared to be the master bedroom. He walked in and made his way into the adjoining bathroom._

 _His eyes quickly found the mirror in front of the double sinks. Taking a few steps forward, he stared at himself, unable to recognize the man in the mirror. Inching closer, he bent forward, nearly resting his face directly on the glass. He ran his hands through his beard, shocked at not only its length, but its filth. Turning on the water, he cupped his hands, filling them with lukewarm water, then lifting them to splash his face. Noticing a shaving kit on the counter, he picked up the razor, turning it in his hands, examining it slowly. Returning to his face again, he placed the razor back on the counter, picked up a small pair of scissors, and began trimming his beard, prepping for his first shave in a long, long time._

 _After shaving, he dropped his dirty clothes on the bathroom mat and stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind him. He leaned in, turning on the shower and noticing the instantly warm water flowing over him. He grabbed the bar of soap, holding himself under the waterfall, shocked by how soothing it all was. The water caused chills to run through his body and felt like pinpricks on his skin. He watched the muck and grime leave his body, the dirt-streaked bubbles disappearing, as the foam circled the drain._

 _Finally cleansed, he stepped out of the shower stall, the cold air causing goosebumps, but his nostrils taking in the cleanliness around him. Drying off, he realizes that he didn't consider what he would wear afterwards. Putting on his dirty clothes seemed wrong. He walked back into the bedroom, and over to a dresser positioned against the wall, across from the bed._

 _Opening the top drawer, he saw a sparse collection of women's underwear and bras. Moving to the next drawer, he found a pair of dark blue boxers in his size. Slipping them on, he noted how loosely they clung to his hips, barely staying up. After a brief hunt, Rick found a pair of dark-wash jeans in the closet. They hung low on his hips as he turned around, taking in his emaciated form in the full-length mirror hanging in the closet._

 _Turning once more, he was startled by a loud knock coming from downstairs. Immediately on alert, Rick cursed himself for not having his gun with him. Not wasting time finding a shirt, he crept into the hallway, down the stairs, and towards the front door. He doesn't hear Carl, which immediately worries him. Peering through the window at the side of the door, Rick caught a glimpse of a blonde carrying a large laundry basket. Cautiously, he opened the door._

 _He stood in front of her, waiting for her to introduce herself. She'd been expecting some sort of greeting, but quickly realized none would be offered._

" _Hi, I'm Jessie," she said, turning and pointing up the street. "I live two doors down. I work in the pantry. Deanna sent me over to bring you and your group some supplies."_

" _Thank you," Rick says, taking the basket from her outstretched arms. She presented a clean and at ease demeanor, a steady smile playing up her features. He didn't know what to make of it. It struck him as strange for anyone to be this calm and worry free. Especially in this world._

" _You guys settling in?" she asked, inexplicably trying to keep the conversation going._

" _We're getting cleaned up a bit," Rick answered. "Never thought I'd see hot, running water and working lights again."_

" _I see that. You've got a little cream right…" she said, indicating by pointing to her own chin._

 _Rick brought his hand to his chin, wiping away the excess shaving cream._

 _She gave him a thorough once-over and said, "you know, I used to work in a hair salon, along with a dozen other things… Anyway, if you want, I could give you a cut."_

 _She waited for his response, their conversation feeling one-sided. She was oddly intrigued by his reticence. She assumed most people would have been more effusively grateful. He seemed different from the others they had brought into the community. He hadn't moved from the front door, but had given no indication that she was welcome to move any further into the home._

" _You don't even know me," he said, befuddled by anyone willingly helping someone else without working some angle. "Don't you think that's dangerous?"_

 _She smiled and said, "I can take care of myself."_

" _No, thank you," he said, still baffled by her offer. "I'm good."_

 _Surprised by his abrupt closure of the topic, the grin quickly left her face._

" _Oh… ok, got it. No problem. You know, It's ok if you're not ok with this yet. I get it."_

 _Changing the subject, she began, "so, I heard from Aaron that you've got kids. I've got two boys myself. He mentioned your boy was around the same age as my eldest, Ron. When you're ready, maybe we can get them together. It'll be nice to have more kids around."_

 _She waited a few moments for a response. Getting nothing, she swallowed her embarrassment and elected to end the one-way chat._

 _"Ok then, I'll see you later," she said, nodding curtly as she turned and walked down the stairs._

 _Rick stepped out, basket in hand, onto the porch. He stood there and watched Jessie briskly walk the stairs, then turn to the left, eventually making her way up the stairs of the house two doors from their house. He didn't know what to make of her. Curious as to how someone like her could possibly exist in a world like this._

 _His introspection was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. He watched as Michonne out of breath, stutter-stepped in front of the house. Studying him, she did a double-take, which caused a smirk to appear on his lips. Panting, she walked up the stairs, staring at him the entire time._

 _Feeling uncomfortable, he asked, "what?"_

 _They'd all seen each other in varying stages of undress, but for some reason, this felt different._

 _Grinning widely, her eyes sparkling in a way that gave him pause, she said, "your face… I've never seen you like this."_

" _Yeah," he said, turning back into the house with her on his heels. "I thought the exact same thing when I caught myself in the mirror. Before, and after."_

 _Laughing, the air lending its easy breeze, they walked back into the house. Maybe Michonne was right. Maybe this would be the start of something._

* * *

"Dad?" Carl called out, gently shaking a groggy Rick. "Michonne says you need to get up and get stuff ready for the party.

Rick opened his eyes to a highly amused Carl. Shifting, he suddenly became aware of the pitfalls of spending an entire night on a hardwood floor. As he rose to a seated position, his sore back protested mightily. Using his hands to assist, he slowly rose to his feet.

"Where's Chonne?" Rick asked, his head swiveling, yet finding the couch empty, a folded blanket nestled on top of its cushions.

"She's upstairs giving Judith a bath. She already has her outfit ready. She just needs you to go home and get the decorations, then come back so we can start setting up in the backyard. Maggie and Enid will be here in a little bit. They promised to bring Hershel Glenn. Judith will be excited about that."

Rick cleared his throat, his thoughts going to how he would handle going home.

"I still have my stuff here, but do you want me to come home with you?" Carl asked, registering Rick's worry.

"I'm good," he said, chuckling slowly, his son's keen sense of empathy giving him pride. "Stay here and I'll be back in an hour or so."

Rick walked over to the chair, where he had left his boots, and slipped them on.

"Let me go up and check on Michonne and Judith first, then I'll go," he said, watching as Carl went to sit on the couch.

Rick walked through the foyer and began climbing the staircase. He held onto to the handrail on his way up, feeling the strain on his leg as he ascended the stairs. Arriving at the landing, he observed the open bathroom door. Walking towards it, he smiled as Michonne on her knees, gently cooed to Judith, giggling and covered in bubbles. Smiling, he hesitated to interrupt the scene.

"Hey," he said, piercing the beautiful bubble.

"Hey yourself," she replied, exhausted, but not failing to beam back up at him. "I've been trying to get our Judy-bear out of the tub for the last 15 minutes, but _someone_ just doesn't want to do that. Do you sweetie?"

"Nope," a giggling Judith retorted. "Still dir'y."

"Still dirty huh?" Rick replied. "Well, if you don't get clean, you won't be able to go to your party."

"No! C'ean!" she yelled.

"That's what I thought," Rick laughed, turning his attention back to Michonne.

"I'm gonna go home now. Be back in an hour or so."

Her head bowed, she nodded slowly, before raising her head to meet his eyes.

"Everything ok at home?" she asked, not really sure what to say. She didn't know if it would ever not feel awkward.

"It's fine, or at least, it will be," he said, peering down at her, Judith now wrapped in a blanket and sitting on her lap.

A new tension hung in the air, neither brave enough to say something that might disrupt lightness permeating the bathroom.

"I'll see you in a bit," Rick said, leaning over to kiss the top of Judith's head, then, thinking nothing of it, kissing the top of Michonne's head as well, forcing a smile to her lips.

He walked down the stairs, the clacking of his boots failing to disturb Carl, who he found sitting on the couch, his headphones firmly in place.

He walked over and pulled Carl up and into a quick hug, before walking over to the door, pulling it open, and shutting it behind him. He spent a few minutes on the porch, thinking to himself as he prepared to make the short walk home. Sighing, he flogged himself for not stopping by last night on his way to Michonne's.

 _Made it harder on myself. Stupid._

Exhaling sharply, he gripped the railing, attempting to prevent over-flexing his leg as he limped down the stairs. Hands on hips, he stood still for a moment, taking in the scenery, then, turned to walk home. Passing the Anderson house, new residents having moved in several months ago, he kept his chin tucked into his chest to avoid bringing the home into his sightline. Only two doors down from his own home, over a year after the herd, and he still couldn't bring himself to look at it. Pondering what he'd done to bring disharmony to his family, guilt washed over him with each step.

As his porch came into view, he noticed Sam kneeling in the front yard, playing with his army men. Not seeing anyone near him, he walked up to the sweet, but troubled boy.

"Hey Sam," Rick called out. "Where's your mom?"

Not looking up from whatever fantasy was playing in his mind, Sam answered, "on the porch, waiting for you."

Rick saw Jessie as soon as his foot hit the first step.

"G'mornin'," he drawled, hoping to discourage a conversation he wasn't prepared to have at the moment. Seeing her face, he knew she wasn't going to let him off that easy.

An irritated Jessie took another drag on her cigarette, calming her frayed nerves as she worked out the details to this long overdue conversation.

Rick peered at his shoes, struggling to find a way out that didn't make him come across like an uncaring asshole, but finding… nothing.

She snorted, annoyed by his hesitation.

"I guess I shouldn't care. After all, it's not like we're a _real couple_. Just playing house, right? But, last night? Last night, I watched you walk past this house without even stopping for a minute."

"I told you at the funeral I needed to make sure Michonne was ok," Rick snapped, sighing in frustration. "I don't wanna do this right now. It's Judith's birthday and we've gotta get ready. We've waited this long to talk, what difference does a few hours make?"

"We're still having the party? But… Spencer just… I don't understand," she said, perplexed as to how anyone could feign joy after the events of yesterday.

"Michonne wants to have the party, so we're gonna do it," Rick said, immediately regretting his choice of words, and steeling himself for her response.

Taking a protracted breath, she looked him square in the eyes, and said,

"God, I'm such a fool. Sitting around all this time, waiting for you to lo–. Waiting for you. But, you were never going to give us a fair chance, were you?"

"Jessie please, not today," he said, exasperated. He knew he hadn't been fair. Not really. Silently, he resolved that today would be the day that he finally shared his truth.

With a look of disappointment, coupled with frustration, rippling across her face, Jessie rose and walked into the house. Rick, shaking his head, followed.

* * *

 **A/N** : The light is coming. Thank you for reading.


	4. Man of Honor

Her little eyebrows furrowed in steady concentration, Judith looked down at a babbling Herschel Glenn, fondly called "Herschie" by all who had known and loved his father and grandfather. Frustrated by the wholly indifferent Herschie's ability to follow her instructions, she attempted, yet again, to feed him the imaginary contents of her doll's bottle. Not willing to yield to defeat, the singularly focused little girl held tightly to the ten-month old as he, long since tired of her antics, valiantly made a bid to wiggle away.

Michonne, riveted by the events transpiring before her eyes, leaned into Maggie, joining her in laughter, as the two friends shared running commentary on Judith's shenanigans.

"Judy-bear, _please_ let Herschie up," Michonne called out, tipping her head towards Maggie, as both, from their seats on the cushioned wicker patio furniture in the Monroe house's backyard, watched the children play in the grass. Maggie and Herschie – with Enid and Jesus in tow – had arrived that morning. Everyone had pitched in, spending the better half of the morning helping Michonne put the finishing touches on Judith's cake, prepare the other food and drinks, as well as decorate the inside and backyard of the home.

A permanent grin took up residence on Michonne's lips, as she was wowed by the spectacular job her friends and family had done to make the day so meaningful. Guests had begun trickling in from the Hilltop, the Kingdom, the Sanctuary, as well as numerous people from the newer communities with which Alexandra was now allied.

Mirth and frivolity prevailed, filling the home and backyard, as well as those gathered, with a buoyant lightness of spirit. After the tragic events of the previous day, Michonne had implored everyone to keep the mood airy; there would be plenty of time to mourn later. _Today_ , was for Judith.

Judith, an empathetic, just like her brother, seemed uniquely able to pick up on Michonne's state of mind. If Michonne was sad, Judith became sad too, wanting to cuddle, and unwilling to leave Michonne's side. Judith had been particularly clingy that morning, a clear indication that Michonne was giving off some sort of vibe the little girl interpreted as mournfulness. Michonne resolved to make sure Judith would not feel an _ounce_ of sadness today.

Luckily, it turned out to be an unseasonably warm, late-autumn day. Wanting to take advantage of the brilliant sunshine, the party was mainly centered outside, on the patio and lawn of the fenced-in backyard.

Michonne, gazing in wonderment, took in the joyful decor, which only added to the charmed feeling of the festivities. The table to the right of the wicker couch, covered in a bright green tablecloth – Judith's favorite color – held an array of delicious food and drinks. The table was crowned by Judith's cake, now topped with strawberry preserves, and drizzles of a honey glaze that the little girl had _insisted_ on sampling throughout the assembly process.

"'Ersee 'ungry," Judith insisted, her lips curled into a pout, frustrated by Herschie's complete lack of cooperation. "I feed 'im."

"Judith," Maggie said, rising from her seat next to Michonne and walking the few steps to where the children played in the grassy area of the enclosed backyard. "Why don't you help me feed Herschie? 'Member how I told you he has special food that only I can feed him? If you wanna come, you can sit with us on the couch while I feed 'im. Does that sound good?"

Judith looked up at her Aunt Maggie, curious as to what _special_ food might be more enticing than the mysterious concoction held in her doll's bottle. Carefully considering her options, Judith opted to rise from her seat on the lawn, attempting to lift the baby with her. Catching the precocious toddler by her wrist, Maggie bent down and scooped up both children into her arms, eliciting squeals and giggles from the pair.

Watching the entire scene unfold from her perch on the patio, Michonne smiled broadly, as Maggie waddled back to the couch, the two squirming forms now tucked under each arm. Nearing Michonne, Maggie swung Judith around in her arm, and plopped her onto Michonne's lap.

"I'm goin' to change Herschie and bring him right back Judith," Maggie said, bending down to bump noses with Judith, and pull a funny face, causing the little girl to erupt in a fit of laughter. "That ok with you Judith?"

"Yeah!" Judith yelled, never one to feel constrained by her in-door voice.

Maggie walked past the other party goers milling around the patio, stopping for a quick hug from Rosita, before continuing into the house.

Michonne turned her attention to Judith, now sitting quietly in her lap, spinning the baby bottle in her hands. Judith reached over to grab her doll from where it had slipped between the cushions earlier. As she leaned over, she nearly slipped from Michonne's grasp, causing Michonne to tighten her grip, pulling the little girl back into her lap, and reaching to grab the doll herself, handing it back to Judith.

"Meesown?" Judith asked, craning her neck, her light brown eyes, speckled with grays and blues, looking up at Michonne. "Cake time?"

Michonne, grinning down at her adorable little lady, couldn't help but chuckle at Judith's remarkable ability to flit from topic to topic, seemingly making each as critical as the previous.

"Soon," she replied, winning a satisfied smile from Judith, who had, in the meantime, decided to move on to examining the intricacies of her doll's current outfit, by undressing her.

Michonne took a moment to revel in the sight of the many family members and friends who had come to Alexandria to celebrate Judith's birthday. A child's birthday was a momentous occasion in this new world, and one they all took very seriously. She was grateful for their presence.

Movement in her periphery caused Michonne swivel her head, her eyes landing on Jesus, who stood at the food table, next to Aaron, talking to Rosita and Eugene. Bits of their conversation wafted back to her. Looking at Aaron, a poignant smile crept onto her lips, remembering how the devastation of Eric's death had wrecked him, and how Jesus had helped heal his soul.

From what Michonne could hear, the conversation centered around how Eugene had been able to retrofit a few of the vehicles to run on the oil he had made from their harvested soybeans and sunflower seeds. Eugene was in his element, explaining everything in minute detail to people who didn't quite grasp his supposition, but were, nevertheless, kind enough to let him have his moment.

Michonne looked on as the eccentric man, who had been able to worm his way back into their good graces during the tail end of the war with the Savior, continued explaining the virtues and various uses for the oil. Eugene had also, inexplicably, burrowed his way into Rosita's heart, a baffling turn of events that, so many months later, was still a source of ongoing gossip and conjecture.

Michonne's gaze shifted to those scattered, in small groups, across the lawn. She spied Carol, in the right corner, near the fence, in close conversation with Jessie and Sam. Her eyes stayed on Carol, who would likely remain a curiosity to Michonne. They had never really had a close friendship, nothing like the one she had had from the onset with Maggie, nor the one she cultivated with Rosita, and certainly not like the one won through trust and mutual appreciation with sorely missed Sasha. Michonne and Carol's alliance was familial, but not... familiar.

Carol's actions at the commencement of their lives in Alexandria had always been a bone of contention for Michonne. Her particular brand of palace intrigue had ensnared Daryl and Rick, both susceptible to her unrivaled manipulation style. While Michonne and Carol had fought side by side many times since then, there would always be an air of unmistakable skepticism between them, which was something Michonne wasn't sure she could ever get beyond.

Michonne let her eyes slip from Carol and wander over to Jessie, standing rod-straight, her left around the shoulders of a sullen Sam, who's attention targeted the ubiquitous army men that seemed to always be in his hand. Michonne watched him, as Carol and Jessie chatted. Michonne's eyes fell upon Sam's missing hand, instantly filling her with sorrow and regret, causing her to pull Judith more tightly against her. She worked quickly to tamp down her emotions, not wanting anything to sully Judith's party.

Michonne's eyes drifted back to Jessie, taking in the blonde woman, clearly uncomfortable being at the party, but knowing it would have brought more scrutiny if she hadn't shown up at all. Michonne and Jessie's was an uneasy relationship, packed with overly effusive politeness and awkward silences.

They didn't hate or even dislike each other. Neither woman had ever given the other any reason to do so. Still, woman to woman, Michonne knew that it couldn't have been easy for Jessie to see Rick make concession after concession to ensure Michonne's place in their lives. She wasn't sure she would have been able to do the same. But, Michonne could not withstand any option that drove Carl and Judith away from her. Maybe it was a bit selfish. After all, she knew the life Jessie desired with Rick, preferably, didn't include her. But, a life without the Grimes in it, would have broken all of their hearts. Spencer was painfully aware of this and did what he did to make Michonne happy; Jessie agreed on the surface, but fought it every step of the way, not realizing until it was too late that her battle was a futile one.

The dynamics of their unusual arrangement had been tough on all four of them, but probably hardest on Jessie, the least willing to accept the circumstances. Like she had done for Spencer numerous times, Michonne tried repeatedly to assure Jessie that nothing untoward was happening between Rick and herself, to no avail. She even tried to spend less time with Carl and Judith, giving Jessie space to _mother_ them herself. This failed miserably, causing frequent flare-ups between Rick and Carl. Rick and Michonne eventually decided, for the wellbeing of his children, they would make the unconventional agreement work.

Michonne sighed, not wanting to contemplate how the loss of Spencer might throw off their tenuous interplay. She knew Rick had been moving to some sort of _decision_ regarding Jessie for some time now, independent of her commitment to Spencer. She didn't have to ask, she could just tell. The environment in that house was not healthy, as she had told him many, many times. She has watched him become morose, even as life for all of them had gotten better. She had worried, wanting to avoid a return to his dark space. She knew he would be no good to himself, and really, no good to anyone, if he didn't stay in the light. So, she helped him however she could, which she knew bothered Jessie, and Spencer, for that matter. But, Rick's welfare was too important for her not to try, especially for the sake of Carl and Judith.

Her eyes moving across the back fence ringing the lawn, Michonne paused to gaze up at the decorations, lights and flowers strung across the pillars spanning the patio and onto the lawn. Her eyes returned to the fence, travelling first to Carl and Enid, huddled on the ground with their backs against the fence.

She then moved over to Rick, standing in the opposite corner of the yard from Carol, Jessie, and Sam, in conference with Ezekiel and Morgan. The Kingdom's leader and his first post end-of-world friend had become frequent visitors to Alexandria, having built enduring friendships with not only Rick, but Michonne as well. Michonne caught the genuine smile on Rick's lips, the sunlight capturing him in minute detail, allowing her to see a lightness and rejuvenation that didn't seem to appear nearly as often as she would have liked. As she stared at him, it appeared that Rick sensed her presence, rotating slightly to his right, seemingly seeking her out. Their eyes connect, briefly, then both averted their gaze, as was their way when in the company of others.

Hearing the door behind her creak open, Michonne turned to take in Daryl, as he strode onto the patio, trailed by Dwight. Giving her shoulder a squeeze with his right hand, then taking a few seconds to also pat Judith's head, they breezed past her, making their way to Rick and Ezekiel. Spinning back around, Michonne looked on as Maggie appeared in the door frame, bouncing Herschie in her arms.

"Phew!" Maggie said, plopping down next to Michonne and Judith. "I will never understand how so much can come out of something so small!"

The two friends snickered, as Maggie raised her shirt in preparation to feed Herschie. The feeding process held Judith rapt, no longer contented singing made up songs, nor keeping company with her doll. Michonne looked on, thinking about Spencer and how he would miss such moments with their child. As Michonne's eyes began to mist, Maggie looked over at her, noting a dark cloud making its first appearance on this sunny day. Knowing Michonne would not want anything to mar this day, but wanting to give her some comfort.

"When I– When _we_ lost Glenn, I couldn't imagine that a world could exist where he wasn't in it," Maggie said gently, reaching over to stroke Michonne's arm. "How could so much energy and love no longer exist in this world? I just couldn't imagine it. Especially, with having this one on the way."

Maggie looked down at her beautiful Herschie, sandy brown hair, with Glenn's eyes, her father's ears, and Beth's sunny disposition. She looked back to Michonne, capturing her friend's eyes with her own, knowing that she was best positioned to help and support her.

"Michonne, he was one of us," Maggie said, refusing to release Michonne from her gaze. "We _all_ mourn. An' we'll all honor what he would've wanted for you, for your baby, for all of us. _That's_ how we get through this."

 _Of course, Spencer told others about the baby._

He had been so excited, how could he have not? Michonne kept her face neutral, ensuring Maggie didn't observe the slip. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing stayed a secret for long between family members.

Nodding slowly, Michonne smiled, bending down to give Judith a loving kiss on the top of her head. Looking over, Herschie had fallen asleep, snoring quietly as his mother removed him from her breast, straightened herself up, and prepared to take him into the house for his nap. As Maggie got up, Michonne looked out onto the yard, catching Daryl's eye, as he walked back towards the patio.

"Hey," Daryl called out, gripping the arm of the couch as he gingerly lowered himself onto the couch, not wanting to jar or cause further harm to the injuries he sustained during the run. "You doin' ok?"

She nodded, knowing he would be the one exception she'd make about discussing Spencer on Judith's birthday.

* * *

Smiling at him, Michonne moved closer, crowding his space and knowingly making Daryl fidget.

 _He's so easy_ , she thought, chuckling to herself.

"Wasn't sure you'd make it," she said, turning to try to catch his eye, currently hidden under his unruly, stringy tresses. "You got pretty banged up. Are you sure _you're_ ok?"

She realized how much she had missed him, as he was often away on recruiting trips, or at the Kingdom. She regularly wondered where her old friend had gone. It occurred to her that maybe it was _she_ who had gone. Daryl had alluded as much in his round-about way. When they had reunited after the fall of the prison, the dynamic between them had changed. The effortlessness of their relationship seemed to have dissipated. The air… was different.

They rarely lingered in the pithy banter or physical joking like they once had. It genuinely made her sad. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it felt as if the closer she and Rick got, the wider the chasm between she and Daryl. If it hadn't been for Spencer and his surprising friendship with Daryl, she wonders if Daryl would have stayed in Alexandria after the defeat of the Saviors, instead of joining Carol in the Kingdom or Maggie at the Hilltop.

Snorting, he rolled his eyes, feeling her scrutiny. He was fine. Physical pain was never really a problem for him. The gnawing ache served as a persistent reminder that he was still here. Still alive, even when it sometimes felt like the effort wasn't worth it.

"Just glad to see lil asskicker so happy," he said, finally shaking his head and exposing his eyes to her examination. "And seein' you. Ain't nothin' better'n time spent with you."

Michonne grinned at his teasing. It felt good when he was this way. It was reminiscent of their closeness after Merle was killed and she and Daryl had committed to finding the Governor, and making him pay for all he had taken from them. She harkened back to those long days and nights in the cramped car, or huddled in a tent. Silent when they wanted, talking if they needed, sharing stories neither had shared with others.

She recalled sitting there, quiet tears etching her face, as Daryl told her about his violent childhood. Frighten tales of broken ribs, shattering beatings, and not enough, never enough, to eat. She finally understood what Merle, the only person who ever tried to protect a young Daryl, had meant to him. She marveled at Daryl's strength of character, and his dedication to the family he found in this life, which he never had the good luck to experience in the old world.

She knew Daryl was strong, but not unbreakable. Healing from the loss of his last connection to the old world was particularly devastating to him. Admittedly, Merle had been ass, but he had also been the only memory of kindness from Daryl's childhood.

Like Daryl, Spencer knew the pitfalls of a brother that outwardly fell short of the glory, but, in their own way, brought a sense of calm and peace to their younger sibling. Daryl and Spencer's initial introduction hadn't exactly been auspicious. After all, Daryl had been threatening to take off Aidan's head at the time. It wasn't until Daryl had been captured by the Saviors, after the death of Glenn and Abraham, when Spencer, in Daryl's eyes, had proven himself worthy.

Spencer had risked his life to get Daryl out of their clutches, an act of grace, which had sealed their bond. Theirs was more than an unusual partnership. It would often make Michonne giggle when she came upon them, huddled on the back patio, talking about nothing, or everything. Knowing both men so well, their comradery tickled her to no end.

Michonne had watched as Spencer helped Daryl through his torment over Glenn's death. After his guilt in the role he played in Maggie's pain nearly drove him over the edge. After Maggie's grief and anger towards him became so unbearably toxic that it pierced Daryl's soul. After all of that, Michonne considered Spencer's relationship with Daryl to be as unusual, but just as perfect, as her own. They had discovered they were actually kindred spirits. Daryl didn't have to burrow away and hide himself from him, like he did with others. His scars had been exposed, but he was accepted regardless.

"When are you leaving again?" Michonne asked, hoping his answer would be further into the future than she suspected.

"Don't know yet, need this fuckin' thing to heal quick or I'll be no good to no one," he said, running his right hand over his ribcage.

"Why are you always running away?" Michonne ask, blurting out a question that had been in her mind for some time. "Makes it seem like you don't love us."

"Nah, that ain't it," he rasped, checking to see if she was serious. She seemed to be joking, but there was an undercurrent of deliberate purpose in her question. "Can't make an outdoor cat an indoor cat, I s'pose."

Michonne pondered his response, there was so much to unpack. This would be a discussion for a later date. She pivoted towards him, watching him shift in his seat as he ran his hand through his hair, uncovering his entire face as the hair fell back around the sides of his face, framing it for her to view.

"He wanted you to know that he 'loved ya without knowin' how.' That mean anythin' to ya?"

She looked at him, wanting to speak, but knowing her voice would crack and signal her melancholy to the sleepy Judith resting in her arms. So, she settled for letting the tears run down her face, as she gave Daryl a simple nod.

"Ya good?" Daryl asked, warily searching Michonne's face for a response her lips might not yield.

"Yeah, I'm good," she replied, giving him a tear-stained, but nevertheless, dazzling smile.

In an effort to distract herself and stop her tears, her sights found Carol, puzzlingly still in conversation with Jessie and Sam.

* * *

"You should consider coming to the Kingdom for a while," Carol said, averting her eyes from Sam's missing hand, while engaging his mother in conversation. "Maybe a break is just what the doctor ordered."

Carol paused for a moment, giving Jessie a chance to respond. She had worked diligently to rectify her role not just in the tragedy that had befallen Jessie and Sam, but how her actions had impacted the lives of those she held most dear. The guilt she felt at her behavior towards this troubled mother and son still consumed her. It would probably not leave any time soon, so she focused her energy on retribution, any means to ease her sins and repay her debts.

If she could go back, maybe things would have been different. If she had taken Jessie under wing, and helped her the way the group had helped her after Ed… Yes, that bastard Pete would still be dead. She'd never have a clear enough heart to wish him back to life, but _maybe_ Ron would be alive. Maybe Rick wouldn't have struggled so mightily. Maybe… maybe _everyone_ would have forgiven her.

"I don't think this is the place for you and Sam right now," Carol continued. "You need to heal and move on, and so does Sam."

"Easier said than done," Jessie laughed derisively, recognizing that things between her and Rick would likely never go the way she had hoped. With the passing of Spencer, she was finally able to see this clearly.

"I can't just pick up and leave. This is all Sam's known since the beginning. He– He's been through enough."

"What are you getting out of this?" Carol asked, trying to change her approach to help the doleful woman come to her own realization that this thing with Rick, whatever _this_ was, wasn't working. "It can't be a happy home."

"That's the understatement of the year," Jessie replied, struggling to keep her emotions at bay, but failing miserable.

She quickly removed her arm from Sam's shoulders, using her fingertips to dab at the tears threatening to roll past her lower eyelids. She nodded slowly, thinking of an alternative plan of action, anyway she could hold on to scraps linking her to Rick. It seemed to be all she did lately. Plotting how to keep a man she never really had. But, she couldn't stop herself from trying. After all, she loved him.

He had saved her from Pete. He had shown abundant kindness to Sam after the loss of his hand. He had opened the door of his home to her, offering to take the weight of choking burdens off her back. This should have been enough and she felt selfish for wanting more. _Asking_ for more.

She'd also felt foolish for not recognizing the true nature of Rick's relationship with Michonne. They had seemed close from her first interactions with them. _Exceptionally_ close, if she's being honest. She saw the looks; they had been hard to miss. She couldn't avoid seeing how Rick sought Michonne out as the first order of business every single time he entered a room. How he would look to her, then turn back to say 'Michonne thinks…' without Michonne having said a word. How his children sought Michonne out for comfort first, even though she was the one ostensibly caring for them.

But, Rick had invited her in, and so, her mind had jumped to the potential opportunity of Rick taking care of her, as he had promised. Realization had been dawning on her for some time, but she still hesitated to surrender to it.

"What do I do now?" Jessie questioned. "I'm not sure I can move out and still stay in Alexandria. I don't think I could take it."

Carol stared at her, a sliver of impatience momentarily flashing in her eyes. While nearly all of Alexandria's strongest had elected to join the war with the Saviors, Jessie had been sequestered, helping care for the ailing, and taking care of Sam. While she had proven herself useful, learning to how to shoot, and how to react in close-quarters combat, and was now capable enough to protect herself and Sam, she would never be a candidate for any role requiring significant time outside the gates.

While she was never going to be a warrior, like those in Rick's group, Jessie could have been stronger. She could have contributed more to the safety of the community. Carol put some of the blame for this on Rick's shoulders. Carol had bristled at Rick's approach, insisting there was no longer room for "damsels in distress," in this new world. While Carol had pushed Rick towards Jessie to serve her own purposes, she knew from the start she'd never be the partner Rick needed in this new world, adding to layers to her transgressions.

"I think you could have a good life in the Kingdom," Carol answered, taking a moment to consider the ramifications of bringing a relatively weak woman and her disturbed son into a community of warriors. "A decent life for Sam. That's what you want, right?"

"Yeah," Jessie replied, the deflation evident in her tone and demeanor. Jessie's shoulders slumped, as she pivoted slightly, catching Judith, snuggled into Michonne's lap, as she talked to Daryl.

"This might be exactly what Sam and I need," she said, conspicuously continuing to stare. She didn't _want_ to give up on a life with Rick, but fighting a one-sided battle had taken its toll. Maybe it was time to raise the white flag.

Carol looked at her, measuring her commitment to moving on. Mollified by what she saw reflected back to her, Carol smiled down at Sam, his eyes upturned and latched to hers, and reached over to pat his head.

Making her way towards Michonne and Daryl, Carol called over her shoulder, "No time like the present, Jessie. We leave in the morning."

* * *

Michonne looked on as Carol marched across the lawn and towards the patio, stopping a few feet in front of her, just as Daryl began to carefully rise to his feet. He grimaced, but made no additional sounds, as a sharp intake of air sent shivers down his spine.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence," Daryl needled, ignoring the ache in his left shoulder, and getting a rise out of Carol.

"Hey," she retorted, taking the bait, like she always did. "I've been waiting for you guys to stop yammering so I can catch up with this one." She gestured towards Michonne.

"Is that right?" he asked, adjusting his arm brace into a more comfortable position. "I see how y'all are. Need'a beer anyway."

The two women laughed awkwardly, watching Daryl as he limped over to the drinks table. Carol exhaled slowly, shifting her attention towards Michonne, now cuddling a dozing Judith against her chest.

"Looks like this one isn't going to make it to the cake," Carol said, smiling down at Judith as she let out a protracted yawn, using her tiny hand to cover her mouth, then resettling into Michonne's arms.

"Looks like it," Michonne replied, giving Carol a smile, as they both witnessed Judith slip into slumber.

Michonne looked up again, confused as to what had brought the older woman to her current position, in front of Michonne. Since their arrival in Alexandria, the two had not exactly been close. Michonne had voiced her opposition to Carol's duplicity, and Carol had seemingly worked tirelessly to extract Rick from Michonne's counsel, which had infuriated Michonne.

In the end, both consciously decided, without ever speaking, that they _were_ family and would behave as such. But deep down, in the craters of her heart, Michonne had not fully forgiven Carol, nor relinquished her wariness. Carol's path back to the good graces of Rick and Daryl had been hard fought, and won, but her heart acutely felt the disquiet of Michonne's ire.

Her remorse over the impact her actions had had not only on the Andersons, but on Rick and Michonne's relationship, was something that periodically flared in her psyche. She regretted the role she placed in the dissonance that kept them apart for those months between the herd and the start of their subjugation to the Saviors. The time had likely long since passed to make amends, but she would try.

"Mind if I join you?" Carol asked, reaching down to stroke the soft, wispy curls covering Judith's head.

"Of course not," Michonne answered, gesturing for her to take a seat.

There they remained, on that couch, in each other's company, steeped in silent reflection.

"You didn't know me when this whole thing started," Carol began, nervously clearing her throat as she chose her words. "I was this tiny mouse, _petrified_ of my own shadow. Fifteen years with a man who constantly tried to put you through walls will do that to you."

She chuckled scornfully, recalling the husband this cruel new world had kindly dispatched for her.

"When you showed up at the prison, I– I didn't really know what to think. You were this strong, resolute warrior that had Daryl and Rick intrigued in short order."

Michonne's face displayed a keen sense of recognition, as she caught onto what Carol was trying to say and where this initially baffling conversation was headed.

"I came to find a safe place Carol," Michonne interjected. "I had no idea nor intentions of displacing _anyone_. It was clear to me you already were a family."

"Yeah, I know that now," Carol said, looking down at her hands, restlessly twitching in her lap. "I don't know if I was jealous _exactly_. Maybe I was a little bit covetous. I'm sorry to say, but, I didn't like it when you went on runs or searched for the Governor with Daryl. And, I didn't like when Rick constantly sought you out for advice."

Michonne nodded, acknowledging this was not a surprise to her. She had always suspect Carol's demeanor hide a certain amount animus towards he, so had purposefully stayed out of her orbit.

"I can now admit I tried to sway Rick away from you," Carol continued. "When the hard decisions came his way, I wanted to make sure nothing distracted Rick from what _I_ thought to be the right decision. I guess I saw you as a threat to that. I wish I could attribute more of a rationale to it than that, but it is what it is."

"I've never been a threat to you Carol," Michonne responded, this entire conversation beginning to zap her energy.

Carol nodded, stating, "I know this doesn't absolve me, but I wanted you to know how sorry for the pain I caused. It was never my conscious intent."

Michonne took a deep, cleansing breath, gently removing Judith's thumb from her mouth, while giving herself a chance to gather her thoughts. Carol's act of contrition had caught her off guard.

"I guess I just didn't understand what you were trying to do," Michonne began, soothing Judith as she shifted in her arms. "I thought we _all_ wanted the same thing, a safe place for all of us, and a place for Carl and Judith to thrive."

Shaking her head, Michonne added, "but, you fought me on this every step of the way. At first, I wasn't sure _why_. It seemed unimaginable that you would risk the possibilities of a life here for… for, what?"

Michonne paused a moment, overwhelmed by emotions she assumed she had long since released. How upset she was at Carol threw her. She wished she had chosen not to engage in this conversation, certainly on this day, of all days, but acknowledged the topic had likely been rattling around in Carol's mind for some time. At the end of the day, they _were_ family. She would afford Carol this tender mercy.

"I was never quite sure why you seemed so hell-bent on making life here harder for us," Michonne said, stroking Judith's back as the little girl fell deeper into sleep. "Knowing what you did to Sam, how you scared him and fed into his anxieties, I– I just don't understand how a mother could do that," she said, shaking her head as the bewildering events of their early days in Alexandria played out in her mind.

Carol bowed her head, aware of how hard it was for a mother to conceive of another mother doing such damage to a child. She was humbled.

Michonne pulled her arm from under Judith's leg, extending her hand out to Carol, who immediately took it.

"If it's any consolation, I do forgive you," Michonne said, releasing the old hurt with those words.

"It means everything," Carol replied, lifting her eyes to meet Michonne's.

The two sat there for a few moments, letting the peaceful aura surrounding them sweep away the tension. As Judith began to stir, Michonne fixed her gaze on Carl, still huddled with Enid against the back fence. Looking from Carl, back to Judith, with Carol seated beside her, she couldn't help but smile at the battles she endured to get this family.

* * *

"You have a good day kid?" Michonne asked, looking over at Carl as he helped bring in the final decorations from the party back into the house.

"Yeah, today was a good day," he replied, grateful for all Michonne had done to make it such a wonderful day.

Looking over at this young man, she couldn't help but smile. The stubborn, empathetic, justice warrior, forever on the lookout for unfairness in this world. It had caused him trouble in the past, and had often caused a cauldron of worry to percolate within Michonne's heart. But, she could not deny how proud she was of Carl's solidarity with those weaker than him. As she watched Sam trail behind Carl, helping as much as he could despite his injured hand, Michonne's heart swelled, as she thought about the care Carl had taken to ensure Sam's recovery.

Judith had woken up for her cake, then spent the rest of the afternoon and evening running around like the social butterfly she aspired to be. As the late fall sun descended, the air cooled noticeably, driving the remaining party goers back into the house. Judith had begged to stay with Michonne, so Rick had carried the drowsy toddler upstairs and settled her into the guest room across the hall from Michonne's.

Maggie, Enid, and Herschie were staying with Rosita and Eugene, while the other visitors spread out to other homes in the community for the night, leaving clean-up duties to Michonne, the Grimes, Jessie, and Sam.

Michonne was in the backyard with Rick and Carl, pulling down decorations and storing them for later use. Sam tried to help, but letting go of the comfort the toys in his hand was an impossibility. So, he mostly flitted back and forth between his mother in the kitchen, and Carl in the backyard.

* * *

Jessie stayed inside, packing away the food and tidying up. It was awkward having all three of them in such close proximity. Spencer had played a neutralizing role. With him gone, the elephant in the room only grew larger. She was nervous and uncomfortable, trying to avoid looking through the window next to the stove, and onto the patio, where she could hear the animated chatter between the three of them.

Jessie could now admit she and Rick had started on shaky ground. Rallying her regrets, her thoughts circled back to Ron. Losing him had been the tragedy of her life. She had never been able to protect him from Pete's wrath in the old world, and wasn't prepared to do so in the new. Rick's offer of support had been a lifeline. One she desperately clung to, even when she discovered it couldn't fully keep her afloat.

The discovery of Spencer's relationship with Michonne had thrilled her, bringing hope that Rick would finally sever his bond with the beautiful warrior. Instead, it seemed to have been rekindled. When Carl had his fits about missing Michonne, Jessie knew that Rick would throw himself at her feet, begging for forgiveness for sins she never quite understood, and Rick refused to explain.

She swallowed the bitter, avarice pill when Rick told her his children would be spending more time with Michonne because Carl needed it to "add his healing." She hated the arrangement, feeling like the unwanted stepmother, having to look at the first wife being showered with adoration by the children she had tried to care for like they were her own.

She knew that Spencer had given in, quickly gulping the bile Rick's presence around Michonne caused him. She'd observe Spencer at gatherings, standing close the Michonne while she talked to Rick. He always looked pensive, but committed. After all, he had successfully ingratiated himself into Rick's family. Something, try as she might, she was never able to do. Sure, they were friendly and kind, particularly to Sam, but she often felt like an outsider. Michonne seemed to have shared the groups secrets with Spencer, allowing him to join in their repartee. But, Rick had kept her in the dark, never willing to fully reveal the details of what his group had gone through prior to their arrival in Alexandria.

Rick was a good man, and his protective stance around her had warmed her heart, at least, at the beginning. But, his later reticence to expose more of himself to her had stung her deeply.

As Sam stood by her side, drying the dishes with his one hand, while holding his army men in the crook of his arm, the three walked through the backdoor and into the kitchen. Jessie shut off the faucet, drying her hands on the dish towel resting on the counter, before swiveling to look at them, a false smile plastered on her face.

"That was quite a party," she exclaimed, forcing a breathy lightness into her voice far removed from what she actually felt.

"It sure was," Rick replied, keeping his eyes trained on his boots.

"Birthday parties are my jams," Michonne countered, hoping some lightheartedness would suppress the tension threatening to siphon the air from the room.

Clearing her throat, Jessie fixed her gaze on Michonne and said, "I didn't get a chance to say this yesterday, but I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Jessie, that means a lot," Michonne stated, wanting to make sure the wistful woman and her son knew she truly meant it.

Nodding quickly, Jessie returned her attention to Rick.

"We're going to get going," the blonde said. "Will I see you later?"

She watched as Rick raised his head from viewing his boots, to squeezed Michonne's shoulder, then Carl's, as he moved to stand directly in front of Jessie.

"I'll come with you," Rick replied, finally making eye contact with Jessie.

Jessie could see that he was tired. She knew this would be it, but, still held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, there would be something left to salvage. So, she nodded her goodbyes, pulled Sam towards her, and turned to walk towards the front door, hearing the echo of Rick's boots striking the hardwood floors, as he followed her.

* * *

In nearly complete silence, Rick, Jessie, and Sam walked home. Rick's insistence that Carl stay behind made it obvious to Jessie what was to come. Sam, oblivious to the anxiety swirling around his mother and Rick, skipped up the stairs to the porch, waiting there for someone to open the door. Jessie and Rick trailed slowly behind, allied in a solemn death march. A solitary light shone from the kitchen, as they made their way into the eerily still house.

"Sam," Jessie said, pulling her son in for a hug and kiss on the top of his head. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll come up in a bit and tuck you in."

Nodding, Sam made his way through the dining room and kitchen. Both Rick and Jessie stood frozen in place, until they heard the soft patter of Sam's shoes making their way up the stairs.

"I need a drink," Rick said, making his way towards the kitchen. "You want one too?"

"Yeah, that's fine," she replied, taking a seat at the dining room table, folding her hands in her lap, as she became mesmerized by the faint scratches etched into the surface of the table.

Rick walked over to the cabinets, opening the one next to the stove, pulling out two tumblers, and placing them on the counter. He walked over to the pantry, reaching up to grab the bottle of spirits Eugene had concocted from the potatoes they had harvested that fall. He poured the liquid into both glasses, then picked up both glasses in one hand, while holding the bottle in his other, figuring one drink might not be enough for the conversation they were about to have. He walked over to the table and took a seat across from Jessie.

Pushing a glass towards her, he looked on as she brought it to her lips and took a long sip, grimacing at the taste, but not stopping.

"I think you know I love you Rick," she began, keeping her eyes on the nearly empty glass she had set down in front of her.

Although he had suspected it, Rick was, nevertheless, startled by her proclamation. He had known she wanted more from him when she moved in, but had insisted they keep things platonic at the start, stating that they both needed to focus on helping their sons heal. After he discovered Michonne had begun a relationship with Spencer, he rationalized that it made sense to try to make _something_ work between he and Jessie. After all, if they were "playing house" as she liked to say, they might as well make it official. He soon realized forcing a relationship that his heart wasn't fully committed to had been a foolish idea.

She had been good to him, notably, during their war with Negan, when he had momentarily thrown caution to the wind and sought comfort in her arms. He regretted using her in such a way. It had only muddled the boundaries of their relationship and given Jessie false hope. She had been devastated when he had ended their physical relationship several months prior. It had made her cold and difficult, characteristics she hadn't displayed before, at least, not to him.

Deep in thought, Rick kept his eyes focused on the glass in front of him, trying not to absorb her long intake of air and labored exhales.

"Rick, look at me," she insisted, slamming her glass firmly onto the table, the vibrations reaching his side.

With his own protracted exhalation, he looked up from his glass. The hurt and disillusionment in her eyes was clear. Yet another person he had disappointed.

 _You are not a good man_ , he thought to himself. _Not even close._

He dared another glance in her direction, then back to his glass.

"Did you _ever_ love me, even just a little bit?" she whispered, her tears at the threshold.

She held her breath as the seconds ticked on. One… two… three… Still nothing, as she allowed her tears to breach her eyes and cascade down her cheeks.

"I promised to take care of you," he said finally, eyes firmly on a black speck floating in his drink. "I have every intention of doin' that. Nothin's changed."

But that was the thing. _Everything_ had changed. After Pete, she just assumed Rick would be her second chance. The possibility that he might not be had never occurred to her. She wasn't a fool. She knew that there was… something there between Rick and Michonne. He had always insisted that it wasn't romantic, but it was something. Whatever _it_ was, she seemed to have gotten in the way of it.

"Do you love her?" she asked, quietly letting the question hang in the air, cloaking the room in a heavy malaise.

His head shot up, but his eyes refocused beyond her, landing in the blank wall space above her head.

"And if you say 'who', I swear to God Rick," she scoffed.

He tucked his chin into his chest and murmured, "I don't know."

She snorted sarcastically. She didn't believe him.

"I've been standing here, in limbo, waiting for you to stop loving her and love _me_."

He jumped a little in his seat, staring directly at her. She refused to acknowledge the look of surprise on this face.

"I love her, but not in the way that you think," he said, suddenly realizing that sharing his _entire_ truth might not be worth laying more hurt at Jessie's doorstep. "She's family."

But, she was _more_ than family. He could pinpoint the exact moment when he knew for certain that his feelings for Michonne were… different. It was during those brutal hours they had spent, on their knees, prostrate to Negan. He had looked on as Michonne pleaded for Carl's life; for all their lives. From that moment on, he _knew_ he loved her. Everything that came afterwards, was simply his heart struggling to survive the pain of her loving another.

"So, what have I been to you?" Jessie asked, eyes long since drained of the tears she had so desperately tried to hold back.

"What do you want me to say?" he said, staring at her, bewildered. "I promised that I would take care of you, and I will. Just not in the way you want. I'm sorry about that, but I can't change it."

Smiling ruefully, she replied, "I get it. You're a man of honor."

There was no hint of irony. She meant every word.

"I guess I just need more than that," she continued. "Maybe, I'm finally done being part of this little existential crisis you've got going. You make me feel like _I'm_ the punishment for your wrongdoing. Maybe you don't think that you deserve happiness, but you _do_ , an– and so do I."

Maybe she had imagined it all. She thought about how he still wore his wedding ring and the fact that she had never been brave enough to ask him why. All these little things that _true_ partners should know about each other, she didn't know about him. She was basically living with a stranger.

"Do you remember when I asked you to tell me there's more?" she asked, shifting in her chair. "You said there was. What changed?"

"Nothin's changed," he replied, his energy waning as he tried to power through this conversation.

"But, everything did. You moved me in here, then decided you didn't want me anymore?"

"It wasn't that. I– I just wasn't myself when I walked through those gates. I never should have done half the things I did."

"Including pursuing me?"

He nodded, guilt and regret raining down on him.

"I shouldn't have Jessie. I was a cop for Chrissakes. I _knew_ the perils of injectin' myself into a volatile domestic situation. I should've handled Pete better. I was trained and I _knew_ better. If I had, maybe Reg would still be alive."

"So, you let me in because you felt _bad_ about killing my bastard husband?" she asked. "What about Michonne?"

"What about her?" he asked, confused by her sudden shift in topics.

She had decided that she now wanted to know everything.

"Why do you leave Carl and Judith with her every single time you leave these gates?"

Rick filtered through words that would hurt Jessie the least. He found nothing.

"She leads this community too. She knows exactly what to do if anything were to happen."

He looked at her, trying to read her reactions to his rationale. She gave him little to work with, sitting there stone-faced.

Sighing, he continued, "she's been out there. She _knows_ what's out there. She knows how to keep them safe. I didn't want to put that burden on you. "

"Yeah, you didn't, did you." she spat, shamed by Rick's lack of trust.

They sat there staring at each other, waiting for the other to end this stalemate and just put a stake in this thing once and for all. He felt horrible for the pain he had cause, but, he couldn't give his heart to her when it was no longer his to give.

"This doesn't work," he finally said. "I'm sorry I didn't say it a long time ago."

She gave him a sad smile, an odd sense of relief radiating through her. This hurt, and she had no idea what lay ahead for her and her son. But, as an overwhelming sense of calm ran through her, it flashed in her mind that she would be ok.

"Sam and I will be going to the Kingdom to visit Carol for a while," she said, grabbing his attention once again. "Maybe a long while. I want a fresh start. Sam needs that, and so do I."

He nodded, acquiescing to give her his full attention. She rose from the table, circling it to get to his side. He looked at her, recognizing his role in the sadness that spanned across her face. She gave him a teary smile, causing him to feel worse. She leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Goodbye Rick," she said, straightening up and walking through the kitchen, disappearing from his view as she turned the corner towards the staircase.

* * *

A light knock on her front door woke Michonne from her restless sleep. Disoriented, she rolled over to her side, nearly falling off the couch, where she had fallen asleep several hours ago. She sat up, the blankets slipping from her shoulders, and leaned over to turn on the floor lamp next to the couch.

Rubbing her eyes, she stretched languidly, looking over to squint at the clock on the coffee table. 1:30. She got up and walked to the door, knowing who would be on the other side. She paused for just a second, hand on the door knob, contemplating whether or not she should feign sleep instead of opening the door. Slowly, she turned the knob, opening it onto an exhausted looking Rick, hands on hip, chin down, peering through his lashes, his eyes immediately laser focused on hers.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself," she replied, softly. Widening the door, she spun around and walked back into the house. Rick, smiling to himself, followed Michonne across the threshold, pulling the door closed behind him.

* * *

 **A/N** : "I loved you without knowing how or when, or from where…" is an excerpt from _Pablo Neruda's One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII_. I guess this is my way of saying: you should read Pablo Neruda. Lol.

I've thoroughly enjoyed my PM convos - we've got some extremely perceptive people in this fandom! This chapter is my version of "light." There's got to be a few dark clouds for contrast... Besides, I figured Jessie hitting the road would bring light to at least a _few_ of you. Thank you so much for reading.


	5. No More Secrets

" _Do you wanna come in?" he asked, gazing adoringly down at Michonne, mesmerized by how the moonlight's iridescent glow framed her lovely face. "I'd really like it if you did."_

 _As he gripped the doorknob of the entrance to his home, instinctively, his other hand reached out for hers. He stood still, patiently waiting to see if she would claim it. Rooted in her spot, on the top step of his porch, she tilted her head, peering up at him through a veil of long, lustrous eyelashes. The bashful smirk on his lips caught her by surprise, as did the faint flush of pink that gradually crept upwards from his neck, and landed on his cheeks._

 _He could feel the nervous energy percolating just below the surface, causing his heart rate to increase at a swift clip. With anxiety getting the best of him, his eyes roamed her face, desperate for any confirmation that his bold request would not lead to rejection. She raised her hand from her side and tucked it into his outstretched one, allaying his fears._

 _As he turned his attention back to the door, twisting the doorknob and nudging it open, she dipped her head low, smiling inwardly. Tugging at her hand, he pushed the door beyond the threshold and into the foyer, then beckoned, with a nod of his head, for her to enter. Before proceeding, she stopped and took him in, briefly contemplating her decision. The intensity of her stare further tweaked his nerves and expanded the crimson sheen marking his cheeks. Despite his discomfort, he held her stare, keeping her pinned in his doorway._

 _Scanning her features, he was elated to discover the steady flicker of want floating in the inviting recesses of her dark brown eyes. The thrill of this revelation rippled through his body, sending a sublime jolt directly to his lower half. The erratic pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, as his confidence began to build. With a smirk continuing to play on his lips, he gestured to her again, almost daring her to enter._

 _His shift to a more assured demeanor charmed her. The jitters that usually cropped up when he was in her presence had been vanquished. This brazen side of him was one to which she was wholly unfamiliar; she was intrigued._

 _As he led her into the foyer, their smiles bloomed, both now clear on their purpose and open to whatever possibilities the night might offer. Hand in hand, they made their way into the living room, the heels of her ever present black boots tapping out an intricate melody on the hardwood floors. She surveyed the changes he had made to his home. Though she had been there numerous times, in that moment, the atmosphere held an electrified charge she hadn't noticed before._

 _She turned to look at him, basking in the fierceness of the passion in his eyes. He silently asked a question, to which she answered by gripping his hand, and gifting him with the singular joy of her beautiful smile. Swinging them around, her hand firmly in his, he made his way to the stairs leading to the second floor. Without hesitation, she followed._

 _Reaching the landing of the upper floor, they walked passed a number of closed doors, making their way towards the end of the hallway. Reaching their destination, they paused in front of a slightly ajar door. After a few moments of trepidation, he used his free hand to push the door open. They entered, coming to a stop a few feet inside his bedroom._

 _Spinning her around to face him, he released her hand, reaching, instead, to grab onto either side of her arms. Haltingly, he continued his upwards trajectory, running his hands up her arms, to her shoulders, eventually ending with his rough, calloused hands cupped around her face. The sensation of his coarse, yet gentle hands on the tender, supple skin of her cheeks, made her want to lean into them, searching for a deeper connection._

 _The hazy luminescence of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains covering his windows, perfectly complementing the shimmer emanating from her features. He took a moment to absorb her essence, acknowledging the utter thrill of having her here with him, and the realization she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The mere thought… the wish for what was to come, pushed his hopeful heart towards ecstasy._

 _Caressing her face, his thumbs rubbed small, soft circles across the apples of her cheeks. He gently pulled her towards him, bending down as he did so, landing a soft, delicate kiss on her lips, leaving her with a fleeting, feathery tingle._

 _He breathed in deeply, taking in the heady notes of the aloe and lavender lotion she concocted for herself and the other female residents. She tasted of wildflower honey and… heaven. He was beguiled. She smiled into his kiss as he pulled her closer, keeping one hand on her cheek, while grazing her arm, his large hand finally coming to rest on her midriff. He drew her into him, using the tightening grip on her waist as leverage._

 _Lifting onto the balls of her feet, she reached up to clasp both hands behind his neck, deepening their kiss. He moaned into her mouth, internally chastising himself for his accelerated physical reaction. After all this time watching her, reveling in her presence, the act of holding her like this, so closely, ignited a fire in him he hadn't experienced for… a while._

 _His arousal, steely and throbbing, stroked her stomach. She smiled against his lips, her ego emboldened by his quick response to her movements. He smelled like the earthy, piney goodness of the outdoors; it was invigorating. She couldn't get enough._

 _He loosened his hold on her, letting her fall back onto her heels. He took her in, examining her face for any uncertainty. She gave him a sultry look, reaching up to pull him back down to her. Encircling her in his arms, he lifted her off her feet, and walked backwards towards the bed, stopping only when his calves hit the edge of the mattress._

 _He set her back on the ground, their lips locked in a steamy kiss, as he let his fingertips leisurely trail across her lower back. Breaking away for a moment, she smirked at him, before gently pushing him down to a seated position on the edge of the bed. Staring up at her, he chuckled softly, still amazed that this enchanting woman had deemed him worthy._

" _Lie down," she commanded, using her hand to ease him backwards onto the bed._

 _Following her directions, he first leaned back onto his elbows, then allowed his head to drop onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving hers. He looked on, spellbound, as she untucked her maroon tank top, pulling it over the locs cascading down her back, and completely off in one smooth motion. His gaze dropped to take in the arc created by her perfectly plump breasts, encased in a lace floral bra that seemed inappropriate for these times, yet perfectly in line with the dueling forces within the alluring warrior standing above him._

 _He swallowed, hard, as her hands ran over her smooth, flat belly, and hooked onto her belt buckle. He held his breath in anticipation, as she pulled the buckle from its clasp, and unzipped her jeans. She smiled at him, catching the hunger in his eyes. Toeing off her boots, she hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her dark-washed jeans, and slowly shimmied out of them. Unable to contain himself, he lifted his head off the mattress, not wanting to miss any inch of her, as she lowered the jeans to her ankles, then stepped out of them._

 _She could tell the anticipation was killing him. She was as revved up as he was, but had always loved the agonizing tease of foreplay. And with him, she wanted the full experience. Clad only in her bra and, remarkably, matching panties, she moved towards him, using her bare knee to bridge, then part his legs. Landing her knees on either side of his leg, she crawled up his body, using her knee to knowingly graze his hardness. The friction caused him to momentarily jerk his torso off the bed, while noisily exhaling a guttural moan. She sat up on her knees, straddled his midsection, and used both hands to push him back onto the bed._

 _Purposefully, she inched forward, allowing only the tip of his hard length, painfully engorged and pointed upwards, to skim her inner thigh. She stilled her progression and leaned back, trapping his member between her cheeks. Gazing down at him, she slowly rocked back and forth, watching, as his eyes rolled back into his head, then closed. His mouth parted, short gasps of air escaping his lips, as he tried to control his body's reply._

 _Leaning forward, she captured his lips once more, allowing his tongue to make full contact with hers. Their seductive whimpers echoed throughout the sparsely furnished room, as she laid her body solidly against his._ _Suspended in a deep, persistent kiss, they carefully explored each other's body, intent on touching every square inch. The sounds and aromas permeating the room drove both further and further towards their bliss._

 _Sensing her growing urgency, and not wanting to wait any longer himself, he snaked his arms around her back, using one hand to unhook her bra, and slip it away from her body. Reaching between them, she made quick work of his button-down shirt, helping him sit up so that he could pull the garment over his arms. He looked on, anxious for her next move._

 _She loved the tease, but the sensual aura blanketing the room caused her to quickly overheat. Prolonging the agony was pointless; it had been long enough. He used his toes to kick off his boots, while she busied herself unbuckling his belt, and unzipping his pants. As she lifted herself up and off him to pull down his jeans and boxers in one go, she looked on as his thick, rock hard length sprang back against the sparse, dark brown hair, covering his stomach. She watched, rapt, as its bulbous cap visibly pulsed, reflexively licking her lips at the sight._

 _Kicking his jeans off and onto the floor, he reached for her, his large hands enclosing her small waist and pulling her onto his length. His fingers found the waistband of her panties. He wanted to rip them off, but awaited her signal to continue. She took his hand, lifted herself a few inches from him, and guided it into her panties and towards her center. The slick heat he found there made his member jump immediately; the scent of her arousal further tantalizing his senses. He wasn't sure how long he'd last under these conditions._

 _She squirmed at his touch, as his middle finger slipped through her folds and found its way into her core, where he began to slowly stroke, in and out. She arched her back, her thighs, on either side of his waist, squeezed him with each stroke, her hands slid backwards, gripping his thighs. His other hand slinked up her torso, softly gripping her breasts, using his thumb and index finger to twist her nipples until they became sharp peaks. First one, then the other. Her body hummed, yearning for more._

 _Removing his hand from inside her panties, he sat up, pulling them chest to chest, as he resettled her onto his lap, her core pressed tightly against his. Lifting her slightly upwards, he latched onto her nipple, gripping it with his lips, then using his tongue to roll the taut, pebbly nub across his tongue, gently scraping it between his teeth. Lavishing attention on one, he gripped the other in his hand, cupping and stroking the blackberry-hued nub. She was intoxicating._

 _He wanted to touch and savor every peak, every valley of her. The contrast of her soft, creamy curves, and her firm, taut edges drove him insane. Her breathy moans were music to his ears, urging him on, and driving his arousal to a nearly painful limit. His lusty need to consume all of her tampered with his resolve to take things slow. His body and mind, in guarded opposition, had reached a stalemate._

 _As he shifted her into a position better suited to his mouth's highly anticipated expedition down her body, she gently stopped his ministrations. He paused, studying her eyes for what he may have done wrong. He found a twinkle in her eyes, indicating eagerness to move on to the main event. Pulling her panties down her legs and kicking them off when they reached her ankles, she scooted forward, deliciously taunting his length as her wetness skirted over it._

 _Reaching behind her to grab his shaft, she leaned forward, capturing his lips once more, as she gingerly worked his length through her folds, and into her center. It had been a long time and she… was out of practice. The ache of that first breach sent a shiver up her spine, causing him to pull her closer, rubbing away the goosebumps he could feel on her arms. In tandem, their bodies trembled, as she deliberately, rocked into him. He fought mightily, as each achingly pleasurable movement brought him closer and closer to the edge. If he was to have any reasonable chance of lasting, he knew he had to take a stand now._

" _First round doesn't count," he whispered, as he flipped her on her back, recapturing her lips._

 _He stilled for a moment, fully sheathed within her, tugging on her lower lip with his teeth, sucking it further into his mouth. Having her on top had been too much. His nerve endings were screaming. As he calmed down, his panting lowered to labored, but more manageable deep breaths. He began to move inside her._

 _She gasped, as he spread her wide, taking his thumb and reaching between them to ghost it across her delicate bud, while he rocked deeper and deeper into her. Though his thumb barely touched her, the heat its close proximity to her center generated, rocketed pleasure throughout her body, causing her core to vibrate, and bringing her closer to her peak._

 _The dampness of his sweat-covered chest hairs roughly striding back and forth across her nipples, ratcheted the tension, causing her to whimper, as the delectable ache in her center grew stronger. The slight discomfort from being stretched so wide, faded into bliss, as he drove his length into her, over and over again, while his thumb stroked her bud, pushing her closer to her crescendo._

 _She plummeted over the cliff. Her thighs shook, as he used his fingertips to graze her bud once more. Gasping for air, she lifted up from the bed, wrapping her legs around his lean, yet muscular body, breathing in his uniquely musky scent, as her orgasm echoed from the top of her head, to the tips of her toes._

 _Feeling her relax in his arms, he picked up the pace, silently sending up thanks that he had been able to hold on. As his tempo became more mercurial, she bit his earlobe, the peculiar sensation sending him too over the precipice. He shuddered, releasing into her with a grunt, as he fisted the sheets beneath them._

 _Now depleted, he held himself up on his elbows to avoid collapsing on top of her. They stayed like this for several seconds, stunned, but satiated. Once their breathing had leveled out, he rolled her on top of him, then to her side, his big spoon enveloping her little one. He pulled her close, draping his arm across her chest, as his spent member settled into the crevice of her cheeks._

 _Sighing deeply, he began drifting into slumber. Just as sleep overtook him, he heard her giggle,_

" _I'm pretty sure that counted."_

* * *

"Not a damn word Rick," Michonne jokingly sneered, narrowing her eyes at him as he climbed back into the passenger's seat.

"Wasn't 'bout to say anythin'," he replied, turning to look at her, an unbearable smugness crisscrossing his face. "Just curious 'bout why you seem incapable of _not_ gettin' us stuck every single time we're out, that's all."

"Oh, I see you've got jokes today," she retorted, turning to take in his smirk, before starting up the car and navigating them out of the ditch she had inadvertently driven them into 45 minutes prior.

"I believe I do," he chuckled, staring at her as she rolled her eyes, and steered the sedan back onto the roadway.

"I'm pretty sure if you weren't distracting me with this awful music, we would have been just fine. All this caterwauling isn't ideal for focus and attention. I'm not criticizing, I'm just saying…"

"You're just sayin' huh? I see how it is. How about next time, _you_ get to pick the music. Wouldn't want my bad taste _distractin'_."

The absurdity of it all had them bantering about their first road trip, back at the prison. The trip to King County, where the barriers to trust were demolished, and Michonne became "one of us," as Carl had so eloquently put it. Michonne could scarcely believe there had ever been a time when the Grimes' weren't an integral part of her life, of her heart. Sentimental reminiscing wasn't their thing, but in moments like this, when it was just the two of them, they couldn't help but to think back to a time when their lives weren't so incontrovertibly interwoven.

"When we made that trip back to King County," he began, reclining the passenger seat and putting his boot-clad feet on the dashboard. "I knew we needed weapons, but, I wasn't sure I could handle goin' back home."

She gave him a quick glance, then returned to the road, nodding for him to go on.

" _You_ made it bearable. What you did for Carl, I just– He doesn't much like to talk about it, and I don't like to press him. But, you goin' in there to get that picture of Lori? Not enough words in the dictionary to thank you for that. Like you, I'm not exactly a master orator I–"

"First of all, speak for yourself," she interjected. "Secondly, how are you just _now_ discovering you're not exactly 'Mr. Shares-His-Feelings'?"

"I see you got jokes too," he retorted, his smile raining down on her. "As I was sayin', I'm not the best at sharin' my feelings, but that day meant a lot to me and Carl. In the darkest time of our lives, you let the sun shine through. It meant _everythin'_."

Michonne sat back for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Their early days together had clearly not been rainbows and unicorns, as she frequently teased him, but she had understood _why_ he had been so hesitant to let her in. When so much has been taken, the desperation to hold onto whatever remains, can overtake all reason. She got it, because, she got him. She recognized how troubled he had been when they first met. She also knew he was remorseful about the way he had treated her during those early days.

What he couldn't come to grips with, was that she had forgiven him long ago. But, since she _did_ know Rick, she also knew his guilt would not easily be assuaged. No one took on the burdens of the world better than Rick Grimes, so, his willingness to now distribute some of the load, made her heart happy.

"What I'm _tryin'_ to say, is… thank you. Thank you for being the person that I can trust wholeheartedly with everythin'. Thank you for being there for me, even when I made it nearly impossible."

He had whispered the last bit, while looking at her, tracking her reaction. It was always easier talking to her than anyone else. Away from the others, just the two of them, sharing secrets. In the deep corners of his mind, he knew she had forgiven him, but, his heart still chased atonement. A simple apology seemed not enough for the weighty regret that sometimes threatened to crush him.

She turned to catch his eye, noting tears had pooled, but not dropped. She reached over to clutch his hand.

"Rick, there is nothing left to forgive," she replied. "You and I are _family_. We do wrong, we ask for forgiveness, we give forgiveness, we lean on each other, we move on. You're not in this alone, and you're _not_ the only person that has fallen short of the glory. Thank you for making me want to _live,_ when I wanted to curl up and die. For making me see there is more than just… this out there."

Briefly gesturing to the barren landscape, she returned her attention to Rick, wondering what she would have done if she hadn't had him to rely on these past 2 months since Spencer's death. She had spent most of the time refocusing her energy on the community and the rest of her family. The work had been physically taxing and mind numbing, exactly what she wanted, as Rick knew all too well. He wanted to ensure that she also got what she _needed_.

And so, he began the habit of visiting her every morning, always with Judith, the natural elixir for all that ails, in tow. While Judith played, or jockeyed for Michonne's attention, they would talk, have coffee, and plan their activities for the day. Rick had become Michonne's rock. The steady, calming lighthouse in her turbulent grief.

Many evenings were also spent at Michonne's, making sure she had everything she needed. He tried to get there early, but most days, Michonne was monopolized by Carl and Judith, or other family members. He usually had to take a number and wait his turn for "an appointment with the Queen," as he playfully told her.

"I've had somethin' on my mind for a while," he began, the tremor in his voice betraying his nerves.

"I'm getting the feeling that this is going to be a good one," she replied, eager to know what could be making him so anxious that he wouldn't just spit it out. "Go ahead, ask."

He was in one of his rarified "talking" moods. She was happy to indulge him.

"Were y'all _tryin'_ to have a baby?" he sputtered, a rosy tint instantly matting his cheeks as he reconsidered his prying question.

"Jesus Rick, how long have you been sitting on that one?" she laughed, interested to see where this conversation was going to go.

They were on their way to the Hilltop for Michonne's long delayed ultrasound. Although these were _better_ times, doctors and nurses, and the necessary medical equipment was scarce. The Leadership Council made sure each community had a doctor who could provide basic services, while more complex care was assigned to specific communities.

Michonne had long since been due for a checkup, but Dr. Soroyan was more than capable of providing her the necessary basics, but he couldn't do the more complex testing that was protocol for pregnancy in this new world. Michonne had been capable to go to the Hilltop alone. After all, the shortcut route had been cleared several weeks ago, and the walkers along its path were largely under control; it was rare to see more than a handful on a trip to the Hilltop. They were dying out, just as the living ramped up to reclaim their world.

But, Rick had insisted. There was no way he would have allowed her to leave on her own, hence, their road trip. This time, sans Carl, who had wanted to join them, ostensibly, to help Michonne, in actuality, to see Enid. He had been overruled, as they needed him to stay in Alexandria to look after Judith.

Rick's question hung in the air. He could practically see the gears shifting in Michonne, figuring out her answer. Taking a different tact, he said,

"I know it's none of my business, but I'm so curious. Especially after how hard it's been to keep Judith safe."

He hadn't really meant to go down this path with her. Not today, at least. Not when she was on her way for a check-up on the baby she was carrying that would grow up without his or her father. She looked at him, noting the bubbling anxiety over what he likely perceived as an error in judgement in asking such a question. It was endearing; she was ok with the question. That's how it worked between them. No more secrets.

"Well, it wasn't exactly planned," she began, momentarily taking her eyes off the road to look at him. "I guess you could say that we didn't consciously _try_ to avoid it."

Watching him intently, she continued, "The trigger, I think, was what Glenn said in the RV on our first trip to the Hilltop. He and Maggie were trying to _build_ something. Spencer wanted to build something too. We were finally safe enough to look towards the future. It… felt like the right time. I hadn't ever thought about more children after…"

She paused, exhaling deeply. He gave her hand a squeeze, using his thumb to rub patterns onto the back of her hand, soothing her.

"Even before, I was happy with one. But, Spencer made me consider having another. Eventually, we decided to give it a shot."

"Spencer wanted a family?"

"Yeah, he did," she said.

"I needed convincing. When Deanna died, I honestly didn't think Spencer would make it. You know how he had been acting out, doing some dangerous things. I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn't long for this world. He… surprised me. He got up, and wanted to learn. He wanted more from this life than just survival. He helped me realize that I did too."

"Well, he sure surprised the hell outta me," Rick said, shaking his head at the reckless young man who had morphed into a contributing, beloved member of his family. "I didn't know he had it in him, but, he proved me wrong."

"He was good like that," Michonne said, her smile lighting up her eyes. "The first time I met him, my only thought was 'dumb frat boy.' It took a minute, but he won me over. He was a good man, who lost his family, and desperately wanted to create one for himself."

The encouragement in Rick's eyes pushed her to continue.

"The first few weeks after he… I regretted our decision. I never imagined raising a child, alone, in this world. You, and Carl and Judith, made me realize that I'm _not_ alone. I can do this. I _want_ to do this."

She gifted him with a dazzling smile. And for the first time in a long time, the tears she shed didn't blemish the hopeful gleam in her eyes.

"You've got me," he said, gratified to offer whatever support she needed. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

* * *

 _Michonne had never been awkward. Never. But standing there, in what would have always been considered an opulent home, in this dress, with laughter and the clinking of glasses echoing around her, she felt so out of place that her insides began to rebel. The churning of her stomach made her queasy. In her old life, a cocktail party would have been as natural as breathing. Beautiful displays of decadent food and drink, everyone dressed in their finery, conversation about politics, sports, art, or whatever banal topic crossed minds. But now, with monsters perpetually at the gate, the thought of wading into such affluence threw off her equilibrium. After what they'd been through, this was too much._

 _I don't know what this is, but this isn't normal, she thought._

 _She stood in the foyer, quickly scanning what she could see of the living and dining rooms, cautious about taking a step further into the Monroe home. She looked for something familiar, anything to quell the panic rising from her belly. This had been a mistake. She hadn't been ready to feel so exposed. Maybe going from out there, to in here, had been too much of a leap._

 _With her paranoia kicking into full throttle, she searched for him, even a glimpse would be enough to quiet the voices in her head that were screaming for her to run. Run, and never look back. She couldn't find him, which was odd. It never mattered where they were, they always, somehow, managed to find each other. The strangeness of this new place made it apt that they had stopped being able to do so._

 _She wished she had just gone to the party when Rick left with Carl and Judith. She hadn't quite been ready on time, so people had already started departing by the time she arrived at the party. Fussing over a dress and makeup with so much danger still surrounding them seemed so silly. She had wanted to try to recapture some semblance of who she had been. And so, she had joined the others in rifling through the closets of the designated house that stored extra clothing. She found a simple cream shift dress, trimmed in gold. Her old self would have gravitated towards bold prints, but, the simplicity of the garment suited who she was now._

 _She had spent much of the day indulgently pampering herself. From washing and re-twisting her locs, to shaving her legs, and painting her hands and feet. After pairing her outfit with black strappy sandals, a touch of make-up, and a spritz of perfume, she felt… pretty. Not like she had in the old world, yet, close enough to now make her feel shaky and uncertain. She had walked out of the house smiling, eager even, but had lost her composure with each step she took towards the party._

 _Her nerves on high alert, she decided to calm herself by finding Carl and Judith, when her eyes landed on him. There he stood, talking to Deanna, in a small alcove next to the living room. She waited for him to turn around and catch her eye. She needed to know if this was as weird to him as it was to her. She waited, but, he didn't turn around._

 _That's odd, she thought._

 _They'd always had a sixth sense of each other's presence, so she was genuinely surprised that he didn't lift his head from his glass to look for her. He looked distracted, certainly not paying any attention to whatever was being said, but he didn't look up. She stood still for a few moments, silently willing him to turn towards her. Eventually, she gave up, as she watched him continue, with drink in hand, talking to Deanna._

 _The had only been in Alexandria for 2 days, and yet, she was treading water and in worried about drowning. She was the one that had promised that this would be a far better place than their time outside. But, the disquiet in her heart made her question her decision. Rick was up to something with Carol and Daryl, she knew it. She hated secrets between them. This ragtag family that had been tied at the hip seemed to be disintegrating, and it frightened her._

 _Michonne had to get out of the house. She turned the corner back into the entryway, then quietly snuck out the front door and back onto the porch. Closing the door, she leaned against it, catching the breath she hadn't realized she was holding._

 _"Too much for you?" he asked._

 _Seeing as every single resident appeared to be inside, she was surprised to spy a figure, in a darkened corner of the porch, leaning against its railing. Through the dim overhead light, she noted the beer in his hand and his glassy stare. She didn't know his name, but she had a vague recollection of seeing a picture of him in the room_ _where Deanna had interviewed her the day before._

 _After several seconds of silence, he chuckled._

 _"Yeah, me too," he said, answering his own question._

 _More silence._

" _You're Michonne right?" he asked, stepping towards her._ _"I'm Spencer, Deanna's son."_

 _He held out his hand, which she promptly ignored, his declaration met by more of her silence._

 _Wow, she's a tough nut to crack, he thought._

 _"I see you're empty-handed," Spencer said. "That's no way to be at a party. Good thing I brought two."_

 _He placed his beer on the porch railing and pulling another bottle out of his pocket. Angling it on the lip of the porch rail with his left hand, he used the palm of his right hand to strike the cap, forcing it off the bottle._

 _"Old fraternity trick," he stated, with a wink, as he handed her the bottle._

 _Surprising herself, she smiled slightly, then quietly laughed to herself. Outwardly, he fit every frat boy stereotype that had ever existed. Tall, handsome, with a glibness to his speech and a nonchalant manner. How he was still here, was beyond her. She fixated on not rolling her eyes. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong._

 _"Thank you," she replied, tamping down her inclination towards rudeness._

 _"No problem," he said, gazing down at the intriguing woman who hadn't recalled almost running him over the previous day._

 _As she brought the beer to her lips, she turned her head slightly, looking through the porch window into the living room. Rick stood next to the fireplace, by himself, staring into his glass. Maybe he felt as out of place as she did. She thought about going in to rescue him, turning to Spencer to excuse herself, when out of the corner of her eye, a blond woman came into view. She had Judith hoisted onto her hip. The woman looked familiar. She recalled seeing her walking away from their home as she ran towards it after speaking with Deanna. The lady from the pantry, Rick had said._

 _Inexplicably, her heart rate accelerated as the woman crossed over, towards Rick. A strange vibe cloaked the air around her, her senses in overdrive; something was going to happen. Rick was always on guard. He would never let someone he didn't know get so close to him, let alone hold Judith. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, Michonne pondered where she should lay down the beer bottle if she had to quickly rush to his aid._

 _Maybe she had made a mistake forcing them to come here. Maybe it was stupid to trust these people. Maybe this was a trap. She looked at Rick, trying to get a read on what was going on. Shock registered on Michonne's face as she watched Rick's face transform into a brief grin as the woman drew closer. She looked on as Rick leaned in to take Judith, pausing to kiss the woman on the cheek. She couldn't comprehend what she was seeing._

 _"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping her out of her reverie._

 _She realized that the bottle was tilted several inches from her mouth, but she had yet to take a sip. Quickly turning towards him, she took a long pull from the bottle. She had never been a big beer drinker, but the yeasty, bitter tang of the cold brew seemed to fit her current mood perfectly._

 _"Yeah, just great," she said._

 _Not detecting her sarcasm, but sensing that something was off, he nodded his head in agreement, continuing to study her._

 _Taking another long pull, she realized that she was actually starting to feel a little tipsy. She looked up into his handsome face, recognizing that the thought of someone being handsome or attractive hadn't occurred to her in such a long time that it felt like a foreigner invading her senses._

 _Laughing out loud, she said, "wow, buzzed off half a beer. Now, that must be some kind of record."_

 _He laughed along with her._

 _"Well, I'm guessing it's been awhile right?" Spencer said, trying to hold her gaze. "You're allowed."_

 _He was enchanted. She– Hell, their entire group was so different from the others in Alexandria. There was something about her that immediately pulled him in. She looked like she could take off his head in a single swipe; he'd seen her sword. But, there was something… something vulnerable and longing in her eyes. She seemed a bit lost and lonely; he was too. It was clear that she was grossly out of his league, but he couldn't stop himself from trying._

" _So, what did you do before all of this," he said, gesturing to their immediate surroundings.  
_

" _Why do you want to know?" she queried, not willing to grant him any real estate._

 _She stared at him, noting the ruddiness taking hold of his cheeks. She was annoyed, but there was no reason to be unkind._

 _Sighing, she said, "sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I was a lawyer. Civil litigation. What about you?"_

" _Nothing too exciting. Just the dilettante son of wildly successful parents," he said, laughing irreverently._

 _Her eyebrows crinkled, unsure if he was serious or not. She'd play._

" _Well, a true dilettante wouldn't even know what 'dilettante' means, so, that seems highly unlikely, no?" she queried, trying to get a read on him._

 _He let out a hearty laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. He'd been thinking about her ever since she nearly knocked him over in her quest to escape his mother's questions. He'd been captivated._

" _I guess you're right," he said, chuckling at her insight. "I was an investment banker. I hated it. It never quite fit my personality. Just a bunch of douchebags trying to one-up each other."_

" _You don't say," she said, rolling her eyes._

" _If you must know, I'm quite shy and sensitive," he replied, watching her tongue slink out to lick droplets of beer from her bottom lip._

 _She's sexy as hell, he thought._

" _Oh, really now? Well, shyness is nice," she said._

" _It is, but, shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to," he retorted._

 _Taken aback by his instantaneous recall of an old Smiths lyric, she gave him a smile._

 _This guy is full of surprises, she thought._

" _How do you know the Smiths?" she asked. "You don't exactly seem like the type."_

" _Really?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Neither do you."_

" _How dare you!" she said, with mock indignation. "It's because I'm black, right?"_

" _Yeah, it is," he smirked, delighted by the change in their dynamic, even if it was caused by an under-fed woman drinking half a beer. He was just eager to keep her smiling._

" _Hmm, is that so," she peered up at him, quickly becoming aware that in her slightly inebriated state, she was actually flirting with him. In that moment, a giddy Michonne sensed the fleeting joy of her former self trying to break through. She looked at him, curious about what else she might uncover._

" _So, how do you really know that song?"_

" _High school girlfriend. She loved the Smiths, and, I… I loved her. What about you?"_

" _The summer before junior high, I decided to become intolerably moody," she said, giggling at her own joke. "Funny enough, my parents did not appreciate it."_

 _Locking eyes with Spencer, she asked, "What happened to the girlfriend?"_

 _She didn't quite understand what had come over her. Normally, she wouldn't have shared such information with a stranger. But looking a Spencer, he seemed kind, and had a lightness of spirit radiating from him. It was refreshing to, for a moment, pull bits of her old self out of the closet._

" _She dumped me in high school for a baseball player, true story. She did leave me with an enduring love of anything Morrissey, and an ability to quote ridiculous amounts of Neruda."_

" _Neruda? Well aren't you just full of sur–," she began._

 _The door creaked open behind her, halting their merriment. They both turned to see Rick standing in the doorway, a sleeping Judith in his arms, and Carl safely at his side. Rick looked back and forth between them, confused by the vision of Michonne laughing with a stranger._

 _"There you are," Rick exclaimed, ignoring Spencer completely. "Everythin' alright?"_

 _Michonne, eyes, still on Spencer, replied, "Everything's fine. You ready to go?"_

 _Taking a final pull of her beer, she handed the nearly empty bottle back to Spencer, giving him a small smile._

 _"Yeah, let's go," Rick replied, his eyes drifting from Michonne to Spencer, landing back on Michonne's glassy stare._

" _Nice to meet you Spencer," she called out, quickly descending the stairs, as Rick, Carl, and Judith trailed behind her._

* * *

"How's Jessie doing?" Michonne queried, opening another Pandora's Box on what seemed to be a longer than usual trip to the Hilltop.

"Well, from what Carol says, she and Sam are settlin' in nicely" he said, sighing and scratching his chin intently. "Couple of guys from the Kingdom picked up the rest of her stuff at our last swap."

He paused for a moment, thinking carefully about his next words. He had made a commitment to himself that there would be no more secrets between him and Michonne. He'd already played the reticent man with Lori and Jessie; he was tired of that baggage. He wouldn't do that to Michonne. She deserved all of his truth.

"You know, what I did there… I don't even really know why. It was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I can't even tell you what I was thinkin' at the time. It felt li- like it wasn't even me. I'm just so sorry for all of it. You know that, right?"

"You're going to have to stop apologizing," Michonne said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. "I _know_ you are. We're way past that. No more secrets, remember? I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright."

She took her eyes off the road for a moment to peer at him.

"Are you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, eager to move this conversation forward. "Truly, all those expectations were like an anchor wrapped around my neck. I can breathe again. I'm tryin' not to look backwards any more. Keepin' my eyes at the road ahead."

"Is that why the ring's off?" she asked, curious as to why he had taken it off after so much time.

Rick looked down at his left hand, the tan line had mostly faded, but was still present enough for him to make out the faint outline of his wedding ring."

"To be honest, it just never occurred to me to take it off. After that last talk with Jessie, when I came back to check on the kids and after you'd gone to bed, I laid on your couch all night, tryin' to figure out how I got here."

He took his hand and dragged it over his weary face.

"Jessie… she wasn't someone I could really be myself around. I don't know, maybe I liked forgetting who I'd become. She let me forget that I'm a monster. Made it feel like it was with Lori, at least, how it was in the early days. Alexandria reminded me of a place Lori would have _loved_. We used to take Sunday drives to looky loo at places like this. To make it here without her was…"

Rick paused, collecting his thoughts.

"I guess I thought I'd be able to recreate it somehow," he continued. "Stupid, but true. Especially how bad it was with Lori at the end. I don't think even in the best of times, we would have recovered from the shit with Shane. But Jessie wasn't _really_ Lori. Lori was… complicated. She could be _so_ difficult sometimes. It was hard to breathe around her. She always made me feel like I was disappointing her, disappointing Carl."

She looked at him. Sad to see his continuous struggle to be everything to everyone. He sighed deeply, and raised his head fully to meet her eyes.

"Jes– Jessie was easy. She was agreeable to whatever I wanted and let me take the lead. That was _definitely_ not Lori. She would pretend to let me lead, then work behinds the scenes to get her own way. Lori didn't need me. Jessie did. I think my ego liked it, if I'm being truthful."

They drove in silence, both contemplating how best to backtrack and calm the unease that threatened to overtake them. They had always talked _around_ the topic of Rick's behavior after he first entered Alexandria's gates those many, many months ago. Michonne had a different perspective than Rick, so, she decided, then and there, it was time to approach the topic head-on.

"Do you remember a guy by the name of Montel Thibodaux?" Michonne asked, peering at Rick from the driver's seat.

"I think so…" he replied. "Wasn't he that Marine who went berserk and killed all those people in Little Five Points?"

"Yeah, that's him," she said, nodding sadly. "He was my cousin."

"You're kiddin', right?" Rick stammered, shocked by her admission. "Wow. I had no idea."

"Didn't expect you to," she replied. "I brought him up because, when we first got to Alexandria, you… you reminded me of him."

Rick turned towards her, baffled at the disclosure.

"How so?" he asked.

"I think your explanation of _why_ you did what you did makes some sense. I'm just not sure it's the entire reason."

He waited patiently for her to continue, eager to understand her rationale.

"Monty was one of my absolute most favorite people on the planet. The funniest, most energetic person you'd ever want to meet. Sweet, kind, loving. That was our Monty."

Michonne smiled ruefully at the shattered memory of her cousin.

"He did three tours in Afghanistan. His last one, he lost a leg, so the shipped him back home. At first, he seemed ok. Paranoid, skittish, but the doctors told us that was to be expected with PTSD. We did the best we could, but aside from 24-hour monitoring, it was impossible to keep him under control."

"So, what happened?"

"He'd been home for a couple of months, drinking heavily, not going to therapy, and making my aunt crazy. That night, he got into a fight in the bar, went back to his car for his gun, and started shooting."

"I was always surprised he surrendered. In those types of cases, they _want_ to die. Suicide by cop."

"I'm not sure why he did what he did, but I knew he was in so much pain."

Tears began running down Michonne's cheeks, puddling on her shirt.

"He hung himself in prison. It was awful, nearly destroyed our family. Afterwards, his psychiatrist reached out to me. We had gotten acquainted when I was trying to get him legal help. Anyway, she sent me all these studies about the dangers when soldiers don't get appropriate support when reintegrating into their 'regular' lives, especially after time spent in war zones."

She paused to catch her breath, wanting to put everything on the table, ready to examine it all.

"The shock of going from the battle field to 'normalcy' can be extremely traumatic. How you were acting when we got her Rick…"

She shook her head, the emotions of the recollection catching her off guard. "You were _so_ unpredictable. Sometimes, I could barely recognize you."

Rick looked at her, urging her to go on.

"Many of these men and women end up hurting themselves, or someone else," she continued. "There's not a standard expectation of behavior, but, there will almost always be _some_ sort of reaction."

Michonne looked at him. The self-loathing over actions he could not go back and change, the need to take everything and everyone onto his own shoulders. The pathological need to save. He was a soldier without an army, she had recognized it early on. They were all suffering from trauma, but it seemed like Rick and Sasha fell further.

She had known far more than she led on about his dealings with Carol, as well as his interactions with Jessie. She had recognized it for what it was: a soldier coming home from war and not able to reconcile the horrors he had seen from the banalities of the relatively peaceful life he now found himself living.

"I saw that in you when we arrived in Alexandria. Going from biting a guy's throat out to save your son, to this fantasy world in Alexandria, it wasn't an easy transition for any of us. But you never took a minute to take it in. I guess I could have forced you to–"

"That's not on you. You were busy trying to keep everythin' together, while I was runnin' around fuckin' everythin' up." he said, regretfully.

"Yeah, well, I'd been down this road before," she replied. "I knew what I needed to do to pull myself out of the spiral. Now, you do too."

Eyes forward, she continued, "I tried to keep a close watch, make sure you were ok, but you fought me at every turn. It took Carl getting hurt, and the mess that came after it for you to see you needed help. I was so proud of you when you started talking with Denise. That's when I knew I had you back."

"I know it probably felt like I did, but I _never_ left you," he replied, eager to have her understand. "Never."

She looked at him, nodding in acquiescence. As they reached the gates of the Hilltop, Rick looked at her, indebted by her grace, appreciative of her mercy. He entered the Hilltop with the clear vision that he would make sure she knew that he would never leave her side again.

* * *

"Is this your first pregnancy Michonne?" Dr. Carson asked, prepping the ultrasound machine as he read through the notes Dr. Soroyan had sent along for his review.

Sitting next to Rick, inside the old FEMA trailer that had been converted into a medical bay, Michonne went uncharacteristically mute. Rick stared at her, watching as her eyes became glassy and her bottom lip trembled. When they had arrived at the Hilltop, she had asked him to join her in the medical trailer. It was unlike Michonne to make such a request, so, he knew her trepidation was getting the best of her. He had been grateful to be there for her. Studying her expression, Rick's heart ached for all this cruel world had taken from her.

"This is the second one," Rick began. "She had a three-year-old, Andre. It was before… all of this."

Michonne turned her gaze towards Rick. She had shared the trauma of losing Andre and Mike with him long ago, in a moment of vulnerability. After the prison, back when they were on the road, not knowing where to go or what to do next. He had shared his regret over how things had ended with Lori. Together, they had wept for each other's greatest tragedies, and had come out of their joint confessionals renewed and reunited. Looking at him now, she was thankful for his place in her life. Turning back to Dr. Carson, she nodded slowly.

"I'm very sorry for your loss Michonne," Dr. Carson solemnly said. "We can't secure everything that happens outside, but we can do our best to make sure this pregnancy is a good one."

Satisfied with his setup, Dr. Carson pushed the ultrasound machine towards the examination table.

"Ok Michonne, let's take a look at your baby," Dr. Carson said, gesturing for her to get on the examination table.

"Should I leave?" Rick asked, not wanting to leave, but unsure if his continued presence might make Michonne uncomfortable.

She looked at him, puzzled by his question. It hadn't occurred to her that he wouldn't stay through the ultrasound. She didn't want to do it alone, and his quiet comfort had buoyed her spirits.

"Stay," she said, simply, watching him nod his head and give her a small smile.

They both got up from their chairs and walked the few feet to the table next to the ultrasound machine. Rick helped Michonne onto the table, as Dr. Carson finished prepping the machine. Once Michonne had settled in, Rick positioned himself on the opposite side of the table from Dr. Carson, holding Michonne's hand to reassure her.

Rick watched as Dr. Carson rolled up the hem of Michonne's sleeveless T-shirt to reveal the tiniest of baby bumps. Unexpectedly, Rick's breath caught, and a lump began forming in his throat. As Dr. Carson smeared the cold gel on her stomach, Michonne flinched, causing Rick to tighten his hold on her hand, while continuing to gently stroke her hand with his thumb. She relaxed into the warmth of his grip.

Except for the whirring of the machine, the room was silent, as the doctor placed the ultrasound wand onto Michonne's stomach. The silence was quickly broken by the loud, steady thumping of an amplified heartbeat.

" _There_ we go," Dr. Carson said, looking over to smile at Michonne. "Good, strong heartbeat. Let's see what we can see."

While the doctor maneuvered the wand across her belly, Michonne, her eyes flooded with tears, looked up at an equally teary-eyed Rick. He was overjoyed for her.

"You're only about 14, 15 weeks max, so it's a bit early, but I can _still_ make out the sex of the baby," the doctor said. "Would you like to know?"

Instinctively, Michonne looked up at Rick, checking his reaction to the question. With Andre, she hadn't wanted to know. There had been too few true surprises in that world; she had relished not knowing until his joyful birth. In this world, the element of surprise held less cache. Rick smiled at her, nodding. She turned and nodded to Dr. Carson.

"It's a girl."

* * *

 **A/N** : A special "thank you" to Tigerwalk for sharing some fascinating information about PTSD and its effects, especially during times of war.

Lyrics are from The Smiths "Ask." As always, thank you for reading!


	6. Because, He Loves You

"I don't get what the big deal is," Carl said, irritation creeping into his voice as he watched his father, crouched on the living room floor of the Monroe house, fill an empty crate with books. "We're probably going to be over there all the time _anyway_. Wouldn't it be easier for everyone if we just moved in with her?"

From his spot on the couch, the blight of annoyance furrowed Carl's brow, as he held Rick captive with an unrelenting stare. Carl had become more and more comfortable posing questions that purposefully caused Rick great discomfort. Glaring at each other across the living room, their current impasse, as of late, a common state of affairs between father and son, caused Rick's ire to quickly escalate. He recognized that Carl, once again, wasn't going to back down. Instead, he could only look on as his son opted to simply sit there, frown lines marking his face, and wait for an answer Rick was unsure he could provide.

Breaking eye contact, Rick scanned the room for a sign, any sign that would guide him towards a suitable response to Carl's inappropriate question. He lowered himself to his knees, easing the strain on his battle-worn, trauma weary legs. Returning his focus to the bookshelf in front of him, he paused to examine its contents, giving careful thought to choosing the tomes he knew Michonne would favor. He selected suspenseful historical dramas, books of tragic poetry, sweeping introspective biographies, reviewing the binding, then carefully stacking each one in the crate. He was anxious to make the right choices, committed to ensuring the things she most adored would surround her.

After partially filling the crate, Rick turned back towards the sofa, looking over at the irked expression painted across Carl's face. While he pretended otherwise, he knew exactly what Carl had really been asking. The reality was, he would have given _anything_ to have all of them under the same roof again. But, he'd been selfish once before, focusing on his own wants, his own needs. He'd made an oath to Spencer to be there for Michonne, and had internally pledged no strings would be attached to his promise. Herein out, his calling was to provide whatever Michonne needed, and give her everything she wanted. _If_ there was anything still there between them, and he prayed there was, he wouldn't rush her. He couldn't.

He couldn't bare to openly show his hopefulness, but he had slowly begun to notice a resurgence of the effortlessness, the lightness, they had once shared. She was never far from his thoughts, finding a steadfast home in that precious space between the ravages this world had had on his psyche, and the treasured humanity brought on by the hopeful thought of his children's future. He was no longer that monster.

He cherished the subtleties of occupying the same space as her, without words or actions, simply sensing each other's presence, understanding each other's moods, silently aligning on topics big and small. The quiet comfort of their reclaimed bond cleansed his soul. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was… something. He pleaded with himself to be patient, as her heart was still mending. He wouldn't risk jeopardizing her recovery to fulfill his own desires. So, he knelt on the hardwood floor of the home he was helping her pack up, absorbing Carl's displeasure, and saying nothing.

He knew his son would not be easily placated. He looked over to him, momentarily surprised by Carl's miraculously ability to bridge the gap between the whimsical carelessness of youth, and the strident authority of manhood. Rick reveled in Carl's single-minded clarity of thought. He always seemed to know what he wanted, and wasn't afraid to demand it. 'This is how it's gotta be,' Carl would often say. Even as Rick found himself flat-footed by this young man's relentless affirmations, he knew that he deserved– no, he had _earned_ a truthful answer.

Rick slid his hand across his stubble-strewn face, sighing deeply.

"Jesus Carl," he hissed, gripping the crate, as he used it for leverage, and lifted himself off the floor. "She's right upstairs. How 'bout you ease up, ok? You're not runnin' the show."

Carl looked at his father, aggravated by his inaction. _Slow as molasses, he thought._

"What you guys are doing is confusing for Judith," Carl countered, changing tactics. "She never knows where she'll be sleeping or if she'll be waking up in the same place. It's not fair to her."

"Oh, so this is about Judith now?" Rick chuckled, hands on hips, peering across the room at his son. "You and I both know Judith will be happy _wherever_ the four of us are. She doesn't care what house."

"That's the thing Dad," Carl replied, pulling out his ear buds to ensure his seriousness about this topic was conveyed. "Why can't we just live together, like we did when we got here? It'd be much easier for Judith, and you– _we_ wouldn't have to worry about Michonne so much."

Rick looked at his son, now nearly his height. Overnight, he had seemingly grown less gangly, manlier.

"You want to have a grown-up conversation, so, let's have it," Rick said, striding across the room to take a seat next to his son. "What are you trying to say here?"

"Make your move Dad," Carl said, sitting up straighter and turning to fully meet the eyes of his father. "I don't want Michonne to be alone. Not _ever_. If she needs us, I wanna be there. I want _us_ to be there."

"I want us to be there too," Rick said, running his hands through his curls, stilling them at the nape of his neck. "I think you know I do. I just– I… I don't wanna rush anythin'. Can't really afford to screw this up."

He watched as Carl's face relaxed, finally recognizing what Rick had left unsaid. His father _did_ want the same things he did.

"'Chonne's been through a lot," Rick continued. "I don't wanna push her harder than she can handle. I can't do that to her, not again. But I'm here– _we're_ here. We'll make sure she gets everything she needs."

"But, you love her right?" Carl asked, watching a startled look swiftly ripple across Rick's face.

"'Course I do," Rick answered, his voice wavering a bit. "We _all_ love her."

Carl gaped at his father, pinning him to his seat with the same cold, laser-focused stare Rick often gave to others. Like father, like son. Carl dignified his father's obtuseness with a groan, and a slow, indulgent eye roll.

"Dad, you know that's not what I meant," Carl said. "Why can't you just _tell_ her?"

Rick looked at his son, debating how much more he was willing to share. Clearly, he'd once again underestimated his son's observation skills.

"I messed this up before," Rick said. "Can't do it again."

"Then don't," Carl retorted. "You love her, she loves you. Why make this so hard?"

"I have no idea _how_ she feels about me," Rick said. "It's been a long time since we've been anywhere even _close_ to that sorta conversation."

"Dad, she loves you," Carl said. "Look, I know she loved Spencer. He was good to her, good to us. But, she does loves you _too_."

Carl glanced down at his hands, thinking back to the conversation he had with Michonne, after the herd, while he recuperated.

"Sh– She told me," he stuttered.

Immediately, Carl's heart leapt into his throat, the pang of disloyalty halting his breath. He hadn't meant to share Michonne's confidence, he just desperately wanted for them to all be together again. It made him feel sure, secure, to have his family around him. But, his longing drove him to a betrayal he had not intended. He took a chance and looked up, catching the anxious, but buoyant look in his father's eyes. As Rick cleared his throat, wanting to clarify what he had heard, father and son were interrupted by the steady, heavy pounding of boots making their way down the stairs. Both looked up as Daryl barged into the living room. The unbridled strain enclosing the room brought Daryl to a stop in the doorway. His head swiveled, looking back and forth between Rick and Carl.

"Da fuck's wrong with y'all?" Daryl asked, trying to get a read on the burdensome air permeating the room.

It had been three months since Spencer's death, and Michonne had decided the Monroe house was too big for just her. Too full of memories. For the past month, Michonne had discussed with Rick her yearning to depart the Monroe house and get a fresh start. The memorial left by the tragically departed family clung to the walls of the home, slowly suffocating her. Though the Grimes boys had seemingly made it their life's mission to keep her happy, the melancholy had settled into all corners of her home, causing grief to fight for permanent refuge in her heart. For the sake of her daughter, she needed to begin surrendering her sorrow to the winds.

Rick, Carl, and Daryl, had eagerly offered to help her pack up her things, and get situated in a new home within Alexandria's expanded area. They had recently completed the construction of the East wall's extension into what had originally been planned as a 'companion community' to Alexandria, or so the old flier they had found had read. The subdivision had the same amenities and general community design as Alexandria, but fewer houses had been completed, allowing for more open land they now used for raising animals, farming, and training new residents.

Michonne had picked out a cottage-style home next to a pond that was to have been the center of the subdivision. It was a bright, cheery yellow with white trim, and a quaint swing on the front porch. When Rick joined Michonne to take a look at it, she had told him it reminded her of summers spend in her grandmother's house, just outside Lafourche Parish, Louisiana. Rick knew she purposely picked it because it had plenty of room for Carl and Judith to visit, as well as for himself, when their late-night talks tired him out and he opted to sleep on her couch.

Taking a quick look across the room at Daryl, Carl rose from the couch.

"I'm going upstairs to help Michonne," he said. "Please _do_ something Dad."

Daryl playfully tapped Carl's shoulder, as the young man skirted around him and made his way to the staircase. Daryl turned to look at Rick, as they both listened to the loud stomps of Carl's boots striking the hardwood floors, then creating an echo in the nearly empty house, as he took the stairs two by two, up to meet Michonne on the second floor. His attention on Rick, Daryl took in the wistful man with his eyes glued to the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Daryl asked.

"Nothin' much," Rick replied, keeping his eyes aimed towards the floor. "Just Carl bein' a teen-ager, I guess."

"Don't seem like nothin' to me," Daryl muttered. "Seems like a whole lotta _somethin'_."

Rick raised his head to catch his friend's eyes. Even though his voice was mocking, the concern on Daryl's face mirrored his own. It had been a while since they had conducted a true heart to heart. Between his recruiting trips, and just plain not wanting to sit still, it had been nearly impossible for Rick to rekindle their previously close friendship. This pained him. Looking across the room, he realized that he'd missed his brother dearly. Maybe he _did_ need someone to talk to about Michonne. Squaring his shoulder, he filtered through his thoughts, searching for how to say what needed to be said.

"Carl wants me to ask Michonne to live with us," Rick began. "Actually, he wants _us_ to move in with _her_."

"Sounds good to me," Daryl said, puzzled at his brother's reticence. "What's the problem?"

"You kiddin' me?" Rick said, frowning at Daryl's glib response. " _Everythin's_ the problem. She's not ready for all that."

"Ever bother askin' her?" Daryl queried, holding Rick's gaze.

Rick stared at him. He had often witnessed Michonne act as a salve for Daryl's sour moods, pulling him out of the dark recesses where his mind tended to wander. Rick had considered the three of them to be lone wolves, kindred spirits, in a sense. From the embers left by the old world, they had unearthed and nurtured their own motley family. He'd missed this.

Daryl continued, "look, it ain't exactly a secret how y'all feel 'bout each other. No one's blind."

"I don't know what y'all aren't blind to," Rick began, awareness slowly seeping into his consciousness. "It isn't like that. There was _somethin'_ there, but it's been gone for a while. At least, for her."

"Shit like that don't just go away," Daryl scoffed, glancing up to peer at Rick through a tangled mop of hair. "I ain't sayin' Carl's right, but he ain't wrong. Ya _gotta_ take your shot, man. Don't waste this."

Trying to catch Daryl's eyes through the sheet of stringy hair, Rick quietly asked, "why didn't _you_ ever take your shot?"

It had been a hunch, but the look of surprise, and then resignation that manifest on Daryl's face told him he had uncovered a fact. He'd always been fascinated by the obvious adoration Daryl had had for Michonne. It had been evident since their time in the prison. If he was being honest, it had peeved him to some degree. He couldn't admit it to himself at the time, but he had been jealous of the time the two spent hunting down the Governor. He knew Daryl had felt some type of way, so, he had always made a point to tread lightly, never revealing his own feelings. With the passage of time, and Daryl's friendship with Spencer, Rick assumed any residual feelings had dissipated.

"How'd I do that?" Daryl asked, shrugging his shoulders, not bothering to deny or defend. "We lost the prison. We all got split up. When I find y'all again, you're cozied up, nice 'n tight. Not enough space for me to get between that. After a while, just seemed like how it's s'posed to be, that's all."

"I'm sorry man," Rick began, regretting having posed the question. "I didn't really know. Ok, maybe I did _suspect_ , but, I just thought– figured it was a crush or somethin'."

Daryl studied him, interested to know what Rick knew and when, but not having the heart, nor the stomach, to go any further down this road.

"Don't matter no way," Daryl concluded. "She's in love with ya. That's the truth."

"What if she's not ready?" Rick worried, not willing to waste energy pretending his heart didn't jump from the mere suggestion. He hated the thought that another's death could possibly bring her back to him, but he'd yearned for this for so long. There was no way he'd let even the slightest prospect of something more with Michonne slip through his fingers.

He'd done it before. He'd vowed to never do it again.

* * *

" _What's going on?" Rick asked, cupping his hands over his eyes to block out the light streaming in from the window across the room from the blankets on which he lay. "What happened?"_

 _Waking to find himself sprawled out on the floor, Rick attempted to lift himself up from the bedding. His quick movements instantly ceased, as a wave of nausea rumbled through his body, bringing the bile up into his throat. Laying back down, he caught a glimpse of Michonne, seated in a chair across the room, her arms crossed. She looked furious, sitting there glaring at him, not saying a word._

 _For a few moments, he couldn't recall why he was where he was. As bits of the images from his altercation with Pete came back to him, the shame tumbled down, onto his head. He stared up at her, taking in the look of sheer disgust on her face. He turned his head to the right, and caught the vision of Carol, Glenn, and Abe standing in the doorway. He then turned back to stare up at the ceiling, trying to clear the fog that had been clouding his judgment since the moment he entered Alexandria._

" _I'm sorry," he quietly stated, closing his eyes to help calm the spinning of the room. "I… let things get away from me. It won't happen again."_

 _Michonne snorted derisively, rolling her eyes as she looked across to him with revulsion. She'd had enough of his boorish behavior. He'd been endangering their stay here – Carl and Judith's stay here – since the moment they'd walked through those gates. She knew he was suffering; they all were. But, he refused to talk to her, and she was fed up._

" _Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice softening. He could tell that her tears were threatening to appear. "We need this place. Why are you jeopardizing what we have here?_

 _He turned on the pile of blankets to face her, the shame washing over him as the full extent of what his behavior had cost her was clearly reflected in her face._

" _I fucked up," he declared. "I'm sorry."_

" _Yeah, you're sorry," she muttered, watching him lean back onto the blankets. "Why don't you tell us exactly what you're sorry about? I'd really love to hear it."_

 _Rick peered over at Carol, noting the warning look she was sending him, but no longer caring._

" _Carol, Daryl, and I stole some guns from the armory," Rick quickly stated, studying the look of surprise on Michonne's face. "We did it for protection, just in case–"_

" _Just in case of what Rick?" Michonne snarled, taking a moment to glare at Carol, flustered and fidgeting in the doorway._

" _What do you mean you guys took guns?" Glenn stammered, stepping into the room, while glancing back and forth between Carol and Rick. "Why would you do that? We all agreed that we would try. We ALL did. You know Maggie and I want to build something here. I don't get why you'd endanger that."_

" _I know that," Rick replied. "I said I was sorry."_

" _He did it for us, to keep us safe," Carol stated, glaring down at Rick through slanted eyes. "These people… they're idiots… babies. They have absolutely no clue how to keep themselves safe. They need us– they need Rick to keep them safe. Deanna knew all about the Andersons, but did nothing. Rick was just trying to protect Jessie and her kids. We did the right thing."_

" _Yeah Carol, I'm sure you think you did," Michonne spat, looking from Carol, then back to Rick. "You can rest easy Rick. We got Pete in another house now. You should be happy now. The road's clear for you."_

 _Rick could only look on, scanning her face for some semblance of what he once saw whenever their eyes met. He could only find the look of sadness and disappointment his betrayal had wrought. He was angry at himself for not having gone with his instincts and just shared with her what was happening to him. He knew she would have understood, because, she always understood him._

" _What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Rick said, angrily staring at her._

" _You know exactly what it means," Michonne sighed, looking down at her hands, tightly clasped on her lap. "I'm just sick of all of this."_

" _All right, all right, enough already," Abe bellowed. "Now, what do we do if they try to kick Rick out tonight?"_

" _Do you really think that's a possibility?" Glenn asked._

" _You can pretty much bet on it," Abe replied. "He's been so fucking out of control. Did you see the faces on those guys? They're terrified of him. No way they're gonna let him stay. Might not want any of us to stay after this."_

" _That's not gonna happen," Rick said, irritation evident in his voice. "But just in case it does, we'll need a plan. If something happens, Michonne grabs Deanna, I grab Reg, and everyone else watches the crowd."_

" _We're going to attack them?" Michonne asked, shocked by Rick's resolve to make this situation even worse._

" _No," Rick replied, careful to avoid eye contact. "We're gonna have a backup plan just in case somethin' happens."_

" _If things go south, we'll need to act quickly," Carol said, looking around the room._

 _Glenn silently shook his head, disheartened by the leader's actions. Abe looked on, seeing exactly what he knew to be stress reactions from Rick. He'd been a soldier and could recognize that Rick's head wasn't in the game the way it should be. Maybe Michonne could reach him; he'd seen her do it many times before._

" _Let's get out of here and let Rick rest," Carol concluded, turning to walk out the door._

 _Michonne rose from her seat, following after Abe and Glenn as they exited the room._

"" _Chonne," Rick called out. "Can you stay for a minute?"_

 _Sighing loudly, Michonne turned back around, standing still, contemplating whether or not she should just leave. Coming to her conclusion, she walked to Rick and stood in front of him, peering down onto the top of his head. As Glenn closed the door to the makeshift prison cell, she sat down beside him, looking across at the empty wall, as each waited for the other to say something._

" _If I thought we weren't safe, did you really think I would have tried to stop you from making sure we were?" she asked, the fatigue clearly articulated in her voice. "You could have talked to me Rick. After all we've been through… it feels like you– We walk through these doors, and you decide now is the time to stop talking to me."_

 _He could hear the hurt and defeat in her voice. In his quest to protect, he had inadvertently forsaken her. His mind a jumbled mess and he was basically just reacting and acting on instinct. He felt so untethered, without Michonne by his side, but didn't quite know how to bring her back._

" _I didn't mean to," he replied. "I guess I just didn't want to put any more on your shoulders. You got us here. I was just tryin' to keep us secure."_

" _By doing what you've been doing?" Michonne asked, scoffing at the notion that what he had been doing wasn't accomplishing the exact opposite. "Running around like an idiot, following Carol's lead? You've got to know that she doesn't have your best interests at heart. I don't know what it is, but she's got her own agenda. When it comes to her, I'm not sure why you can't see clearly."_

" _I know what she's up to Michonne," Rick replied, turning to look directly at her. "I'm not an idiot, and she's pretty obvious, if you know her. Maybe… maybe, I didn't wanna stop her. I knew if I told you, you would have convinced me to stop… You'd have cleared my head. You've got that power over me."_

" _What power is that exactly Rick?" Michonne said, scanning his face. "You've been doing whatever you please since the moment we got here. Plotting with Carol, chasing after married women, I mean wh–"_

" _What the hell are you talkin' 'bout?" Rick roared. "I'm not chasing after anyone."_

 _Michonne stared him down, her incredulous look telling him everything he needed to know._

" _Ok, if that's your story…" she replied, chuckling disdainfully._

" _It's not a story," Rick replied._

 _She looked at him, scrutinizing his eyes for deception. She'd always been able to spot it, but had seemed to have lost this ability since their arrival in Alexandria._

 _Seeing nothing, she quietly said, "I saw you kiss her at the party."_

" _What?" Rick said, puzzling over her statement. He thought back to the party, and fell upon what she was talking about._

" _That was a peck on the cheek," he said. "I was thanking her for looking after Judith. It was nothing. Besides, I wasn't the one outside yuckin' it up with some random asshole I didn't know."_

" _I was out there because I couldn't get your attention, you idiot," she muttered. "I haven't been able to get it since we walked through those gates."_

 _He looked at her, noting the rings under her bloodshot. She was tired. He had done that. He could tell that he had hurt her._

" _I– I was afraid you'd keep me from doing what I thought was best," he said, pleading with her. "You're the only one who could have."_

" _If you were doing right, why would that have been a worry?" she asked, not willing to concede any points._

 _He nodded, knowing she was right._

" _You put up your sword," he finally said. "I figured that you wouldn't want to pick it back up, so…"_

" _So, what?" she asked. "You thought I wouldn't be willing to defend this place? Defend us if I had to?"_

" _Honestly, I'm not sure what I thought anymore," he admitted._

" _Rick, we're safe here," she began. "I put up my sword because, I don't need to have it strapped to my back all the time anymore. You don't need to keep your gun in its holster. We're protected here."_

 _He looked at her. Really looked at her. The anguish and discouragement in her eyes. Her slumped shoulders. The way the sun streaming in through the solitary, curtain-less window, hit her lips, showing him its slight tremor as she tried to speak. Her discontent with him was a devastating blow._

" _I know what you're going through Rick, she began. "I've been there. Believe me, I know. You can't do this alone. I wish you'd trust me to help you… help us."_

" _I do tru–," he began._

" _No, no you don't," she interjected, causing him to look down at his feet. "If you did, you would have come to me. You would have known that, no matter what, I'll be by your side. Nothing's change."_

 _He looked at her, noting how her eyes had softened and begun to mist. He'd done that. He'd made her worry. He'd caused her pain. He'd done all of this, and for what? He didn't quite know. His head was a jumbled mess of noises, battling for supremacy. She was the port in the storm. His only glimmer of sanity. He couldn't let go of her. He was filled by an overwhelming urge to touch her. And so, he reached out his battered and bloody hand to cup her cheek, stroking it softly. She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. Whatever he had been doing, he needed to stop. He looked at her closed eyes, licking his own lips as his eyes fell on hers. He leaned in, desperate to kiss her._

 _Opening her eyes, she peered curiously at him, taking in the unusual look he was giving her, and how close his lips were to hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, she didn't trust herself. Not with him, and not like this. Pulling away, she brought herself back to her feet._

" _Get some rest," she said. "You need to be ready for tonight."_

 _Walking towards the door, she turned back to look at him. Catching the sorrow in his eyes. Blinking slowly, she lowered her eyes to her feet, and slipped out the door, closing it tightly behind her._

* * *

"Hey Michonne," Carl yelled from the landing, his voice echoing throughout the second floor. "Did you want some help sorting through the pictures?"

Michonne looked up from her perch on a stool in the middle of the hallway. She had been filtering through a box containing photo albums that Deanna had kept on a shelf in the closet of the master bedroom. It had been too eerie sorting through them in the bedroom, so she had dragged the boxes out into the corridor. Flipping through the albums made her sentimental about Spencer, but the fond memories she had of Deanna. Sitting in the living room, chatting about the old world and the new, reviewing plans for what would become the future of Alexandria. Deanna had been a formidable woman; Michonne deeply missed her quiet determination and wisdom.

"Yeah," she said, gesturing towards Carl. "Come sit next to me."

Michonne looked on, as Carl noisily strode towards her. He leaned against the wall, sliding down, until he was seated, on the floor, next to her stool. He reached into the box, and pulled out a cream colored, timeworn album. Michonne reached to take them from him, wondering what she would find in its pages. Turning to the first page, she gazed upon a portrait of the Monroes, all eyes focused forward, smiling, and seemingly happy in the formal shot. Turning the page, she noticed the album seemed to be a timeline for Deanna's boys. Aidan and Spencer as babies, Spencer's first day of kindergarten, his 3rd grade class picture, high school and college graduations, all filled the pages.

The album continued, highlighting the family at Deanna's inauguration, Reg at the groundbreaking of a building he had designed, Aidan and Spencer, sitting on the steps of their house, shortly after arriving in Alexandria. She noted Spencer's pensive, conflicted expression in that picture. She picked all the milestone pictures of the family, and then placed the picture of Spencer with his investment banking qualifications on top. She'd want their child to know him like this. Eager to do what was expected of him, funny, goofy, kind.

Smiling as tears slowly ran down her cheeks, she turned to look at Carl, who was watching her carefully. Like his father, he was often able to practically carry on entire conversations with Michonne using minimal actual of words. They could interpret what each other was feeling or thinking at any given time. She loved that about him.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, anxious to ask the questions that had really been plaguing him for the past few weeks, but unsure as to how to begin.

"No, I'm good," she said, beaming through her tears at him. "You're awfully helpful today. What's up?"

"Why does something have to be up?" he queried. "Maybe, I _like_ being helpful."

She gave him two beats, before they both burst into laughter.

"Yeah, right," she retorted. "Well, if you _do_ see Mr. Carl Grimes, please let me know. I'd like to talk to him."

"Hilarious Michonne, truly gut busting stuff," he smirked, eyes in perpetual rolling motion.

Looking at him, this glorious young man she'd watched steadily move into manhood, she looked back at the album on her lap and asked, "any others you think I should keep for the baby?"

Carl leaned in and took a look at the open album on her lap. This was important to her, so it was important to him. Slowly, he began to turn the pages, sneaking glances at her as they moved from picture to picture. Depending on her slight response to a picture, he would move on, or sit and study it for a while. He stopped when he got to the end.

"If it were up to me, I'd create a timeline, just like you did," Carl said, looking at the open album, while still glancing up at Michonne. "And, I'd definitely add this one."

Michonne looked down at where his finger was pointed. It was a candid picture of she and Spencer. She had missed it during her initial perusal of the album. It was the day after that horrific night when Glenn and Abraham had been murdered. She had been crying and Spencer had his arms around her. Rick had asked Aaron to take pictures of the inventory they had available for the Saviors, which they had piled up outside the Monroe house. Aaron had inadvertently included Michonne and Spencer in the achingly beautiful shot. He had captured the way he looked down at her, her pain reflected in his face.

What Michonne had not noticed before, was that Rick was in the picture as well. Standing to the side, looking directly at her, while Spencer held her in his arms. She didn't know what to make of his expression. Impenetrable sadness, dejection, relief unrequited, or maybe something else. She wasn't quite sure. She couldn't remember what _she_ had felt in the moment, only recalling the comfort that Spencer had offered her. Rick's unknown intrusion into that moment did cause her to reflect, remembering those times when they weren't as close as they were now. She now understood how the death of Glenn and Abe had been a pivotal moment on their path back into each other's lives.

"That's a good one," she said, softly, gazing up at Carl.

Carl took the chair next to her, not saying a word, but she could tell he had more on his mind.

"You know how this goes between us Carl," she began. "Just let it out."

He paused to look at her, then said, "I want us all to live together again. We need you, and you need us. I won't like it if you need something and we're not there. I want to take care of you the w– way you've taken care of me."

Finally releasing the anxiety that was roiling through him, he waited, apprehensive of what her reply might be.

"Oh Carl," she began, inhaling deeply. "It's not as simple as that. Your dad and I, we… we need our space. It's good when we have a little bit of space, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think so," he retorted. "He's _miserable_ when you're not around, which means we're _all_ miserable. He's just so mopey, mumbling things under his breath, or getting mad at me for some dumb shit–"

"Hey, young man," she half-kidded. "Language!"

"Sorry," he said, smiling sheepishly. "He gets mad and yells for stupid stuff. But when we're here, or you're over with us, he's happy… lighter. I don't know. He's just nicer to have around."

"And, _why_ do you think that's because of me?" she asked, genuinely curious about his thinking.

Carl stared back at her, bewildered by her question. It seemed pretty clear to him, and he assumed to both of them.

"Because, he loves you," Carl said, quietly. "And, you love him."

He said it so clearly and so simply, that it caught her by surprise. He turned towards her, looked up, trying to capture her gaze.

"Of course he does Carl, we _all_ love each other," she replied. "That's what families do."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," he said. "Please don't treat me like a stupid kid. I remember the way he was acting when we got here. And all that Jessie crap… I know how much it bothered you, even though you never said anything about it. At least, not to me."

"Carl, I'm not going to discuss any of this with you," Michonne said, sternly. "I'm sorry, but I cannot."

"I know. I'm not asking you to tell me anything," Carl replied. "I just figured you'd probably given up on him."

He looked up at her, and tried to conjure up the words he sorely needed her to hear.

"I didn't like Spencer at first, even though he was always nice to me and Judith, and he treated you the way you deserved. Maybe it was because I knew dad didn't like him. Seeing you with Spencer made dad sad. But, he knew your were happy, so, he let it be.

Michonne nodded her head, thinking back to Spencer's last words to her in that van. She could now admit that she had suspected Rick had some feelings for her. Maybe she had at some point felt… something more for Rick. It had been so long ago, but she could still see the glimmer of what they could have been to each other. Spencer had known it, or at least, had shared his jealousy with her. She had tried to allay his fears, but knew she had not always been successful. Instead, they had agreed on their commitment to each other and that the Grimes were simply… family.

With Spencer gone, and Jessie out of their lives, she hadn't yet let herself consider the possibility that she and Rick might have some sort of future. She thought back to that fateful day when she last spoke with Deanna. How she had promised herself that she would actually start _living_ and not just surviving. Maybe, she'd finally come to the point where all of it was possible.

* * *

 _She laid back, panting, the feverish shivers tormenting her body. Pain hummed through her, moving up and down her body, head to toe. Slowly, she lifted her head from the sweat-soaked pillow. She yearned to see that sweet face one last time. Turning her head_ _slowly, she took in the vision of Judith, holding onto the edge of her playpen, trying to steady herself into a standing position. Rick had left Judith with Deanna to prepare the others to leave the Anderson home._

 _Looking wistfully over at Judith, she thought about her boys, about Reg. Her regrets over not listening to Rick earlier, her fear for Spencer's future. Her fear for all their futures. Her thoughts we interrupted by the creaking door as it opened onto the visage of Michonne. Deanna couldn't help but smile at this loving, strong, resilient woman. Though their time together had been short, she had felt an immediate kinship with her and had enjoyed her council. She looked on as Michonne walked across the room, first taking some time to check on Judith, placing a loving kiss on the top of the charming child's head. She kept her eyes trained on Michonne as she made her way to where she lay on the bed, sitting on the side, and reaching down to clasp Deanna's hand in hers. Both eyes began to mist; this was a tragic goodbye._

" _I handed over the reins to Rick, but, he'll need your help," Deanna croaked. "He can't do this on his own."_

 _Michonne looked at the dying woman, an essence so similar to the grandmother who had raised her. To lose another woman she loved broke her heart. The unbearable pain pulled the tears from her eyes and set them loose down her cheeks._

" _I will," Michonne pledged._

" _Good," the exhausted woman responded. "I've got one last deathbed request for you. Are you listening?"_

" _Yes," Michonne said, laughing through her tears. It had been so easy to love his spirited woman. "I thought about asking Rick, but I think you're the one for this mission. It's about Spencer."_

" _What about him?" Michonne asked, confusing cloaking her voice._

" _He's better than he knows," Deanna began, struggling to pushed her pain to say her peace. "I don't know… Reg and I spent too much time dealing with Aidan's issues. Spencer definitely got the short end of the stick. But, he's got potential. I know he does."_

 _Michonne nodded. During their watches together, Spencer had shared with her the many dishonorable activities of his older brother and how they had nearly ripped his family apart. He'd always had to be the good son, doing what was expected, allaying the burden of worry on parents._

" _I know," Michonne replied, nodding vigorously through her tears._

" _He trusts you and admires you so much," Deanna said, looking directly into Michonne's eyes. "He's got the biggest crush on you. Oh God! He would hate that I told you that!"_

 _She chuckled softly, imagining her shy boy's reaction to her confession._

" _If anyone can show him what he needs to do to survive in this world, I know you can," she continued. "You are smart, you are strong, and so capable. You and Rick… you both could reorder this world. Together. I see it."_

 _Michonne gaped at the woman who had helped restore her faith in mankind and made her want to fight, want to live for this community. She thought of her son Spencer, who had shown her the promise of love and adoration when she was feeling so disconnected. She had faith in his abilities to survive that she hadn't had before. He had proven himself willing to fight for her, fight for them, and so, she would fight for him._

" _Nothing is guaranteed in this life," she concluded. "Reg was the love of my life, my partner. My raison d'être. I see the same partnership with you and Ri–"_

" _It's not like that," Michonne interrupted._

 _Deanna looked at her, the pain had subsided for a moment, and so, she was able to really see her. This glorious woman, who loved this man, loved his children with all her heart._

" _Yes," Deanna continued. "You both are born leaders. You're the future. Take it, make the most of it. Will you do that for me?"_

" _Of course I will," Michonne replied._

" _Thank you my dear," Deanna asked, closing her eyes. "Do you still think the plans are feasible?"_

" _Yes, I think it could work, even now," Michonne replied. "I've been looking over them. I know exactly what you were trying to do. We can still do it."_

" _Good," the dying woman stated. "I'm grateful."_

" _There was Latin in the margins of the sketches," Michonne began, hoping to receive one last lesson in wisdom. "What does it mean?"_

" _Dolor hic tibi proderit olim," she said, smiling through her tears._

" _What does it mean?" Michonne repeated._

" _Someday, this pain will be useful to you," she stated. "It's one of the things Reg would say when things had gone to holy hell. I finally know exactly what it means."_

 _She laughed, clutching Michonne's hand more tightly as the pain surged through her body._

" _Michonne, I got everyone I ever wanted out of this life," she said. "All I wanted to was to do good works, and have a happy family. We had our bumps, but I got to work with my boys to try to build a better future. I didn't get everything right, but it was everything I always wanted, and I got to live it to the end, on my terms, start to finish."_

 _She paused, taking time to peer up at Michonne's tragedy struck expression._

" _We've talked about this before," she said. "But, have you figured out what you want?"_

" _The only thing I care about is this place," Michonne said, gesturing around the room, looking over at Judith. "I wa–, I need this place to be successful. There is no other choice."_

" _That's not what I meant," Deanna said, chuckling softly at the woman that constantly put the needs of others before her own. "What do you want for you?"_

" _I'm not sure I can answer that," Michonne answered, dipping her chin into her chest._

 _Michonne studied the pain etched into the woman's face slowly morph into peaceful surrender. Letting her go would be crushing. Looking back at Deanna's wane face, she could only look on as a small smile transformed her countenance. The older woman turned and looked at her. Smiling as the realization of her departure struck her. She'd done the best she could. All that was left was a last prayer for the best for all whom she had loved and lost. She looked at this strong, brilliant woman. This woman who has so helped heal her son's soul. This woman who had helped her through the agony of losing a son and a husband. This woman who had suffered herself, yet had the grace to ease her trauma. She'd been blessed. Taking a deep breath, she murmured,_

" _Well, you'd better figure it out."_

* * *

"Stop it Rick," Michonne said, exasperated by his hovering. "You're worried about nothing. Dr. Soroyan said I could 'resume normal activities.'"

"Yeah, _I_ know what normal means," he began, tired of her deflecting his concerns, as he watched her lift a nearly full crate onto the kitchen countertop. "But, do you?"

She tried to keep her amusement at his suddenly fussy behavior to a minimum. While her pregnancy had been fairly uneventful to date, she'd begun experiencing a slight elevation in blood pressure, which had concerned the doctor enough to put her on lighter duty and more rest. But, Rick knew Michonne. It wouldn't be easy to get her to surrender her duties to others and agree to a diminished work schedule. She hated being a burden to others. If he were to get her to comply, he'd have to take more drastic measures.

"Ok Rick, you win," she smirked, giving him a wink. "I promise to be a _good_ girl. Scouts honor."

He stared at her. _Is she flirting?_

"What's _that_ look for?" she queried.

"Nothin'," he replied, quickly turning away from her penetrating gaze. "I– I was just thinkin'… maybe it would be easiest if you just moved in with _us_ for a while."

He scanned her face, nervously gauging her reaction. She looked puzzled by his request, her eyebrows raised, as she returned his fervent gaze.

"Rick," she gently said. "You don't have to worry so much. I'm fine… I'll _be_ fine. Besides, I literally just moved in here. I should probably spend at least _one_ night in my own bed, don't you think?"

She held his gaze, her beaming smile acting as a backlight to her beautiful face. She looked around, picking up the now empty crate, and then walked over to the front door to stack it next to the others.

"You know, you don't _hav'ta_ be," he said. "It's ok to lean on us. I sorta wish you would."

"I know you do Rick," she said, softly. "I _do_. How could I not? You guys are _always_ underfoot, so…"

He nodded, not sure what else to say. He looked at her, marveling at how the winter sun caught the highlights in her locs, setting off her cheeks, fuller due to pregnancy. She looked so beautiful. He was in awe, because, he loved her. It was as simple as that. He wanted nothing more than to be in her presence. Always. Perhaps he would have had a chance if he had played his cards differently, but the time had long since passed for him to worry about how to remedy his failings. She had forgiven him. She had allowed him to bask beneath her sun. If that was all she could offer, he would savor every single bit of it.

"Do you ever wonder what coulda been if I hadn't acted like such a blazin' asshole when we got here?" he asked, blindly looking towards her for some sort of confirmation. Anything at all that she could offer to soothe his regret at opportunities lost.

She looked at him, knowing exactly what he was asking. They'd had that stolen moment after the fight with Pete, but she had been too angry, too disenchanted to make it more than it was, at least at the time. By then, Spencer had wedge himself into her thoughts… and eventually, her heart. She didn't know if she could chance her heart with Rick. She thought back to the promise she had made to Spencer, in the back of that van, those many months ago. Unbeknownst to Rick, she had spent some time over the past few months wondering the same. She had walked through Alexandria's gates those many, many months ago with the thought of what could possibly be between them. She and Rick and become nearly inseparable during their journey after they prison.

What if she had been more overt with her affections? What if she had reached for him before he fell? What if she had bared her soul under threat of rejection? The truth was, she had been afraid to test her heart out with Rick. He had meant so much to her; Carl and Judith had her heart clutched in to their little hands.

The threat of losing all of what they had, even when it didn't seem like enough, had held her back. Not from loving Spencer… but, perhaps, from giving him all parts of herself. The thought that he had ever had any inkling of it pained her deeply. Yet, it had been their truth. Michonne could now admit to herself that she thought there _could_ have been more, she had had no wish to help him chase ghosts. All that time on the road, so closely aligned, she had felt something was… different between them.

Rick gazed back at her, thinking of all the time he had spent… all the time he had wasted chasing spirits and what had been. There had been more. There could have been more with Michonne. The thought of not having this chance broke his heart.

"I love you Michonne," he said, taking in her startled looked. "I knew for sure when I watched you on your knees in front of Negan, begging for our lives, but I knew I loved you even before then."

His breath hitched, the terror of rejection causing his stomach to churn. She looked at him, curiously stilled by his declaration. If he had been mistaken in his forwardness, he would be ok. Unleashing his truth was all that mattered. He would… he could, live with the consequences.

"Oh!" she grimaced, reaching for her belly.

"What's wrong?" Rick called out, fright reverberating in his voice. He leapt to his feet and rushed towards her.

As he neared her, her grimace turned into a bright smile. She cradled her belly, still so tiny, rubbing it in slow, gentle circles.

"I just felt her move," she said, tears streaming down her face.

Intuitively, Rick reached out to cup her belly, the soft flutters of their– _her_ baby girl echoing against his fingertips. He smiled down at Michonne, his eyes misting slightly. Michonne stood still, gazing up at him, recognizing something so clear and true. He _did_ loved her.

She reached out, pulling him by the arm into an embrace. His arms circled her, his hands gliding from her shoulders, to grip her waist, pulling her body flush with his. His eyes asked the question his lips were too afraid to utter. Her response was instantaneous. And so, he leaned in, inhaling her lightly floral, intoxicating scent, as pulled her towards him, his lips finally connecting with hers. He leaned into her pressing her back against the kitchen island. Her hands went slack, as his lips roamed her face. First pulling her top lip into his mouth, then using his tongue to gently, then more forcefully invade her mouth. He fought for dominance, contemplating whether or not he should, but emboldened by the need to consume all of her. In tandem, they sighed. Sighs representing the bliss of love, hard fought, and hard won.

 **A/N** : Sorry for the delay – work, life, etc. made this chapter quite the struggle. We've turned the corner. As always, thank you for reading!


	7. You Made Me See

" _Michonne!" Rick cried out, swinging his axe against the door in a desperate attempt to break into the garage where his son and Ron were currently trapped. "I need you!"_

 _Rick's frantic shouts, coupled with the loud, oddly numbing groans of the army of walkers that had surrounded the Anderson home and were threatening to breach the threshold, drove Michonne out of the room where a mortally wounded Deanna and a frightened Judith were being kept. Racing towards the noise, she shoved the letters Deanna had given her into her back pocket. She had been grateful to spend a few more moments with the woman that had inspired her to fight with everything she had for this community, her community._

 _Her thoughts momentarily drifted to the poor young man who had lost his brother and father within a matter of days, and would soon face the anguish of his beloved mother's passing as well. Michonne knew, as many did in these times, the utter misery of such loss. Which was why she had willingly pledged to fulfill Deanna's final wishes. She vowed to use everything in her arsenal to teach Spencer that he too could survive in such a world._

 _Running through the Anderson's kitchen, Michonne caught sight of Rick, sweating profusely, swinging his axe against the interior door that led to the garage. Jessie stood at his side, her eyes frantically looking towards the front door where they had stacked a few pieces of furniture as a temporary barrier. Father Gabriel rushed around, pushing more furniture against the windows and the back door. The barricades wouldn't be long-term deterrents, but could buy them a little more time to figure out a plan of action._

 _Turning her attention back to Rick, Jessie caught Michonne in her peripheral vision, as she sped to Rick's aid._

" _It's Ron and Carl," Jessie said, her voice trembling, as Michonne joined Rick next to the door._

" _What happened?" Michonne asked, leaning into the door to pull the doorknob out of its base so Rick could strike it more cleanly._

" _Not sure," he quickly replied._

 _With one last swing, the doorknob pulled away from the door, giving them just enough time to pull Carl and Ron out, before pressing themselves against the door to hold off the invading walkers. Rick, Father Gabriel, Ron, and Jessie held the door closed, while Michonne grabbed Carl, hastily examining him for wounds. As she did so, they were all startled as the walkers finally broke into the home, breaking through the front door and a side window. They all scatter away from the door._

" _Everyone, upstairs now!" Rick yelled, turning to his right as Michonne, Carl, and Father Gabriel sprang into action, shepherding the Andersons towards the stairs._

 _Michonne and Carl remained, staying with Rick to fight off the first few walkers entering the home. Making their way towards the staircase, Rick gestured to Michonne. Halting, she pivoted back to the living room to help Rick grab the couch and pull it towards the stairs. They tipped it on its side, angling it across the entryway to the upstairs, temporarily creating a buffer between them, and dead marauders that were sure to eventually make their way upstairs._

" _This won't hold them for long," Michonne whispered, keeping her eyes on Rick as he quickly caught his breath against the upstairs hallway's wall. "We've gotta figure out a way to get out of here right now."_

" _There're so many of them," Jessie whimpered, trying to stay upright as the inescapable panic filled her very being with dread._

 _Rick and Michonne looked down the stairs one last time. Satisfied that for now, the couch was adequately braced to keep the walkers from the upstairs, the group made their way to the first bedroom next to the landing; Sam's room. As they entered, a tinny music box could be heard playing a strangely disquieting tune._

" _Turn that shit off now!" Rick roared. "That's the dinner bell."_

 _Jessie and Ron ran to the closet, pulling the door open onto a sweaty and frightened Sam. Dropping to her knees, she pulled Sam into her arms, rubbing his back to soothe and protect him from the chaotic visuals that were sure to trigger a meltdown._

" _Shhhh, it's going to be ok sweetie," Jessie murmured, trying to lower her tone in order to stave Sam's anxiety. "We just need to be really, really quiet. Can you do that for me?"_

 _Sam nodded, nestling his head against his mother's shoulder, as she leaned over to turn off the music. Gesturing for Ron to sit next to his brother, Jessie rose up and returned to where a shaken Father Gabriel crouched against the wall. She turned her attention to Rick, looking on as he and Michonne, heads nearly touching, seemingly blind to others in the room, seeking each other's quiet counsel._

" _We'll need cover," Michonne said, watching as Rick, hands on hips, nodded in agreement. "I'm thinking two of them should do the trick."_

" _Yeah," Rick said, turning to face Jessie, standing mute in front of them, her eyes nervously darting from one to the other. "We're gonna need as many bed sheets as you can find. Bring 'em back here. Michonne and I will be right back."_

" _Where are you going?" Jessie called out, looking on as Rick and Michonne briskly walked past her._

 _Not stopping, he called over his shoulder, "I said we'll be right back."_

 _Jessie shook her head slightly, as she followed them out the door, turning towards the linen closet at the end of the hall, while the two made their way down the stairs._

 _They took the stairs two by two, stopping a few steps from the bottom to assess the situation. The couch seemed to be holding up, but the loud guttural sounds, coupled with the putrid appendages threatening to escape around the temporary barrier, made it necessary for them to get this done fast._

 _No words were necessary, as Rick, steadied by Michonne gripping his belt, leaned over the couch and used his axe to hack through the skull of the walker in easiest reach. As Michonne stationed herself against the couch to create an opening, Rick dragged the walker halfway up the stairs. Having done the same with the second, he and Michonne heaved both corpses up the stairs, and back into Sam's bedroom._

 _Looking up from her task of stacking sheets on the floor, Jessie recoiled in horror as she watched Rick and Michonne drag the walkers to the center of the room. Sam had left his hiding place in the closet and was currently glued to his mother's side. Looking up as Rick and Michonne crossed the doorway, he blanched, cowering as he wrapped both arms around his mother's waist. She leaned into him, rubbing his back and softly whispering words of comfort into his ear._

 _Michonne dropped the body in the center of the room, and walked over to Carl, wanting to retrieve his knife as it would be better at gutting the bodies than her katana. Carl stood a few feet from Ron, both clearly avoiding any interaction with the other. Something was definitely wrong._

" _What's going on?" she asked, her eyes flitting from Carl to Ron and back._

 _She quickly thought back to having to break them out of a locked garage and realized there was no logical reason for them to have been there in the first place. She waited a few beats for Carl to respond, fess up to whatever was causing the clear hostility between he and Ron. They didn't need this right now; everyone had to be focused on what was to come next._

 _Carl remained silent. She looked over at Ron, who seemed to be staring back at her. On closer inspection, he was actually looking straight through her and over to Rick, looking on as Rick talked to his mother in hushed tones. Carl had mentioned in passing some tension between he and Ron over his friendship with Enid, but she had discounted it as the usual teen angst. But, she didn't like whatever was simmering between them right now. They had a mission to accomplish and she was wary of having the Anderson boys distracted from the task at hand._

" _Everything's fine," Carl replied. "I'm just thinking through what we need to do."_

 _She looked at him, examining his face for the tells she was always able to interpret. He was like his father, terrible at lying to her. He was doing it again, but they didn't have time to waste. Whatever it was, she would have to keep an eye on the both of them._

" _Fine," she said, her hand stretching out towards him. "I need your knife."_

 _Carl took it out of its holster, flipping it in the air and catching it by the thin, sharp blade, the handle facing Michonne. She reached for it, giving him a quick smirk as she turned away and walked back to where Rick kneeled next to the walkers._

 _She dropped to her knees next to him, as they worked quickly, making fast progress in eviscerating the corpses. The rancid smell was a shock to all of their senses, making eyes water and throats clench. The awfulness of it all brought tears to Jessie's eyes, contemplation of what dangers lay ahead sending shockwaves through her body. She clung tightly to Sam, trying to find the words that would bring him some reassurance that all would be well, even if she didn't believe it herself._

" _Hand me the bedsheets," Rick commanded, reaching into a corpse and pulling out entrails._

" _Is this really going to work?" Jessie asked, befuddled by how they could just walk past those creatures without getting killed._

" _Yeah, it works," Rick rasped, annoyed by the question. "We've done it before. It'll camo us, make 'em think we're one of them."_

 _Jessie nodded silently, unfurling the first sheet, and handed it to Rick. Rick passed it to Michonne, who used Carl's knife to quickly slice a large slit into the center, before handing it back to Rick. Rick placed the sheet in front of him, and used the entrails to smear the noxious bits onto the sheets. Once he was satisfied with the coverage, he handed the sheet to Father Gabriel, who promptly used the opening to pull it over his head. Rick and Michonne did the same with the others, until they had enough covered sheets for each of them._

 _Michonne helped Rick slip his over his head. As he tried to do the same, she stilled his hand and shook her head in response. Rick nodded, laying the rot-covered sheet on the floor. Michonne walked to the door, placing her ear against it, listening to see if the walkers had yet breached the house. From what she could pick up, they were safe for now._

" _I think the coast is clear," she whispered, turning back to look at Rick, who was busy pulling the sheet over Carl's head, while guiding Jessie to do the same for Ron and Sam. "I'll get Judith."_

 _Gripping her katana in her right hand, Michonne slowly opened the door, peeping outside to check for signs the walkers had gotten past the couch blocking the path to the upstairs, before she entered the hallway and quickly walked to the room where Judith and a dying Deanna remained. She slipped her katana back into its casing, then opened the door._

 _Slipping into the room, she was taken aback by Deanna, eyes wide open, making faces at Judith in an effort to entertain the girl while they waited for Michonne to return. She looked over at Judith, who immediately reached her little arms up to be held. Michonne went over to her, leaning into the playpen to place a kiss on the top of her head, before walking over to where Deanna lay on the bed._

" _Hey," Michonne said, feeling the mattress shift underneath her as she looked down onto the dying woman. "How are you doing?"_

" _Well, this hasn't exactly been the best of days," Deanna rasped, no longer bothering to keep her eyes open. "I suppose that's to be expected."_

 _Michonne nodded, looking down and noticing how Deanna's pale complexion had taken on a slightly bluish hue. It wouldn't be long now._

" _We're ready to leave," Michonne said, reaching over to grab the gun Rick had left earlier. "Are you sure you want to do this alone?"_

 _Her eyes tightly shut, Deanna simply nodded as Michonne took her hand._

" _Ok," she conceded. "Then, you're going to need this. We'll be going through the front door, so there'll be no way to stop them from getting in… I just want you to be prepared."_

 _Michonne placed the gun in Deanna's hands, watching as the doomed woman's finger encircled the trigger. She padded the woman's hand one last time, before getting up and walking over to Judith. She reached in, gripping Judith underneath her arms, pulling her up, and cleaving her to her chest. Making her way to the door, she moved Judith to her hip and unsheathed her sword. She turned back to take in Deanna, eyes closed, resigned to her destiny._

" _Thank you, Deanna," she said, looking for some sort of recognition, quickly realizing that none would be forthcoming. "Thank you for believing."_

 _She opened the door gently and peeked out, turning to find them all clustered at the start of the staircase. Rick beckoned to her as she strode towards them. Judith looked on from Michonne's arms, her wide eyes dashing from her father, to her brother, and back up to Michonne. She gripped her tightly as they neared the rest of the group._

" _Deanna?" Rick asked, as Michonne reached his side._

" _As good as can be expected," she replied, shrugging as she leaned against the wall. "How do you want to play this?"_

" _We need to get to the armory," Rick began, reaching for a reluctant Judith._

" _I've got her," Michonne said, nodding towards Carl._

 _Silently, Carl lifted his sheet, as a terrified Judith clung to Michonne. Eventually, she was able to distract Judith with a few soothing words, gently handing her over to her. Turning towards Rick, she slipped her katana and it's scabbard off, as Rick placed the putrid sheet over her head. Once it was secure, she returned the sword to her back. Once he was sure she was ready, he turned back to the group._

" _Here's what's going to happen," he began, making eye contact with each of them. "We all need to stay focused and calm. This ain't goin' to be easy, but if we're calm, we'll be able to walk right past them without them even takin' notice of us."_

 _Michonne scanned the Andersons and said, "does everyone understand that? This is how we make it through this. It only works if everyone stays calm."_

 _Her eyes landed on a stricken Jessie, trying to keep a crying Sam quiet, but failing miserably. Fear crept up Michonne's spine at the thought their plan might be unraveled by the instability of this sad, disturbed boy. But, there was no way they would leave them behind. They all had to go. She watched as Jessie turned towards a trembling Sam._

" _Sweetie," she said gently. "Remember what we talked about? This place isn't safe anymore, so we need to leave. I need you to be brave. Can you be brave for me? I know this is scary, but I'm right here with you. I won't let you go."_

 _Michonne looked on as Sam nodded. She wasn't certain that he would be able to hold on. She very much doubted it, but figured if she and Rick flanked the entire group, this just might work. They were startled by burst of noises coming from downstairs._

" _Shit!" Michonne rasped. "They're close. We need to move now!"_

 _Rick turned to look at Jessie, the sheer horror of the situation reflected in her eyes._

" _We gotta do this now," he coaxed, keeping his eyes on the frightened woman. "If we don't, we're all dead.  
_

 _Jessie nodded quickly, giving Sam's hand another reassuring squeeze. Rick returned her nod, then turned his attention back to Michonne._

" _Ok," he began. "I'll be in front. Carl, Jessie, Sam, Ron, Gabriel follow, and you take the end."_

 _He didn't have to look at her to know she had thought the same. They linked hands, quietly making their way down the stairs._

" _No matter what, no one turns back," Rick said, looking up at Michonne as they descended the stairs to meet their fate._

* * *

She felt her back curve around the edge of the countertop as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer still. His hands were everywhere, driving an electrical charge through her body that set a constant pulse at her core. She breathed in his singular aroma – the outdoors, mixed with the body wash she had concocted for them; the familiarity made her smile. She shuddered as he reached around her, palming her ample cheeks as he lifted her off the ground and gently set her down on the countertop.

They broke their kiss. Now nearly eye-level, she gazed at him, taking in the sexy way his lips parted, her heart beating a complicated rhythm as she leaned in to caressed his face. Grabbing her open hand, he pressed his lips against her palm, breathing in her essence as he watched the melodic rise and fall of her chest.

He pulled her towards him, her bottom reached the edge of the counter, then he leaned in to capture her lips once more, his arousal grazing her inner thigh, as he staked his claim between her legs. She bent forward, wanting to lavish all the adoration she could on his lips. She ran her fingers through his silken curls, her fingernails gently massaging as she slowly dragged them across his scalp. He moaned at the sensation, gripping her more tightly against him.

Suddenly, the urgency of his erection, the insistence of her passion, produced a dark cloud of guilt that washed over her. Her passion halted, she became acutely aware of where this was headed. She desperately wanted this… all of this. But, was it too soon? Were they actually ready to take this step? What she ready to let go of Spencer?

It was subtle, but he immediately noted the change in her demeanor. His lips still pressed to her neck, he quietly stopped his ministrations, moving his hands from her backside, to her hips, finally landing them flat on the countertop, on either side of her. Scared to say a word and break the spell that had enraptured them, he leaned into her, bringing his forehead to touch hers.

They stood there, silent, addressing their own internal doubts. Rick was scared; the thought of losing this… whatever it was to be, drove a cold dagger through him. Maybe he had gone too fast, asked for too much. He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes, afraid of what he might find.

"I'm sorry," she quietly said, using both hands to clasp around the nape of his neck. "I– I'm not sure what's come over me. This feels right, but, is it? Isn't it too soon?"

Rick breathed in a sigh of relief. Leaning back on his heels, he looked into her eyes. The yearning still there, but he could also see the cold truth of conflict. He knew what she was thinking.

"I don't think the old rules apply," he began, using both hands to grip either hip, caressing them in a reassuring motion. "I've wanted this for so, so long. I don't wanna to push you… rush you. I guess I just got a bit carried away. _I'm_ sorry."

She looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. She needed this, needed to find this center, this balance with him.

"You've wanted this for how long?" she asked, using her fingertip to run across his delectably kissable lips.

He smiled back at her, happy to see the light energy still flowing between them.

"That's hard to say," he said, giving her a pointed look. "I barely noticed you in the prison. Practically never gave you a second look, coming or going. I probably couldn't have picked you out of a line up."

"Yeah, you couldn't have, could you?" she retorted. "It might have been easier if you had looked after me when I left a room or something. That _might_ have made me more memorable."

"Hmmm. I think you might be right," he said.

They chuckled softly, in wonderment at the ease infecting through the room.

Ok, If I'm being honest," he said, capturing her gaze once more. "It probably started when you and I and Carl took that trip back to King County. I guess I felt some sorta connection… I don't know exactly. I just know I wasn't expectin' it. Caught me off guard."

She nodded at his explanation. She had felt… something as well. Not quite sure what to make of it, so she had pushed it into the recesses of her mind, chalking it up to her longing to belong somewhere, to something. Rick just fit the bill of the type of man she could envision making part of her family. His steadfast love and devotion to his children was what had sold her. She had simply wanted to be on his team.

"And, if I'm being real, real honest, it solidified when you an' Daryl decided to make the hunt for the Governor your life's journey. I'm not gonna lie. I _hated_ the thought of you an' Daryl out there… together… _alone."_

Michonne looked at him, surprised by his confession. She had known that Rick felt… some sort of way about Spencer. Hearing that he had ever been jealous of her relationship with Daryl was enlightening. She and Daryl had been close, very close. And there had been a point where she had considered the possibility that _something_ might have been there, just beneath the surface. But finding Rick and Carl after the fall of the prison had put life into perspective. Daryl was family. Rick was… something else.

"Daryl was never a threat to you," Michonne stated, clearing any misgivings he might have harbored.

"I know that now," Rick said, shaking his head. "It didn't stop me from being envious of the time you spent together. Spencer, on the other hand, was a different story…"

"How do you mean?" she queried, curious to hear what he had to say.

"I knew it wasn't like a crush or anythin' temporary," he sighed, lifting his hand from the counter to rake it through his beard. "I knew you'd be leavin' me… leavin' us. I didn't know if I could take it."

"You were living with Jessie," Michonne scoffed, suddenly wanting to hop off the countertop. The current conversation dragging her to a place she'd vowed never to return.

"First off, you _know_ there was nothin' goin' on then," Rick said, holding his arms firmly on either side of her, preventing her exit. If they were going to see this through, they needed to get everything out into the open. No more secrets.

"The truth is, I thought once we got settled, once we were safe," she began, looking down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "I thought maybe there would be time for us to explore if there was anything more between us than a deep commitment to the family we'd built. But, we get here, and _you_? You disappear on me."

Rick lowered his eyes from hers, unable to take the residual hurt and pain they contained.

"I know," he murmured. "I spent all that time chasin' ghosts and losin' what was right in front of me. I will never forgive myself for that. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll spend every moment makin' it up to you. It's you… It's _always_ been you. No one's ever made me feel the way you do."

"And, how is it that I make you feel?" she asked, bashful, but eager to pull them back to the light. She wasn't angry. Not anymore.

"Like I'm a good man," he began, his eyes never once leaving hers. "A man of honor. A man worthy of lovin' you. Worthy of bein' loved by you. Because, Michonne, I _do_ love you. With all of my heart. This… what's between you and me and our kids? _This_ is different."

She smiled at him, joyful tears welling in her eyes.

"I love you too Rick," she stated. "It's taken me a long time to come to terms with that, but it's true. I just… I feel like I'm somehow being disloyal to Spencer. I know he always felt that there was or _had been_ something more between us, but I pushed that to the back of my mind and just focused on loving him. He made it easy. _This_? What's between us? It just _feels_ right. It makes me feel a little guilty, but I know this _is_ different."

"This'll be on your terms, your timeline," Rick said, peering deeply into her eyes. "We're in no rush. We've got the rest of our lives."

She smiled, as he pulled her into his arms and lifted her off the counter, placing her gently onto the ground. She reached up, pulling him towards her for one last kiss, before taking his hand and leading them out of the kitchen. They both believed it. This was different.

* * *

 _Michonne looked at Rick from her position at the end of their chain, watching as he led them down the stairs. She noticed how loud the groans and roars were to her ears. Even having been this close to walkers numerous times, there was something unusual, something so wrong about facing them within Alexandria's walls. The walls that were supposed to keep them all safe. She swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing that she'd need to be on high alert to ensure they all got through this safely._

 _Saying a silent prayer for Deanna as they made it through the front door and slowly began walking down the porch steps, she watched as Sam began to visibly shake. She turned once more towards the house, looking on as the walkers began to swarm it. Turning back, they quickly slipped past the throng of walkers littering the sidewalk. Sam was still shaking, but looked, at least from her vantage point, to be keeping it together._

 _Pulling them into the relative shelter of a patch of bushes, Rick whispered to Michonne,_

" _Change in plans. There're too many of 'em and they're too far apart. All we got are flares and a few guns in the armory. Won't be enough. We need to get back to the quarry and get the cars. We can drive 'em back and use them to lead 'em out."_

" _Rick, there's no way we can take Judith," Michonne responded, shaking her head. "She needs to be somewhere safe."_

" _I'll take her to the church," Father Gabriel offered, taking in the distrust emanating from Michonne. "I can keep her safe there until you lead the walkers away."_

 _Rick looked over at him, the skepticism clear on his face._

" _I can do this," Father Gabriel continued. "I won't let you down."_

" _You're sure?" Michonne queried, looking directly at the once cowardly minister._

" _Yes," the contrite man replied. "I have to. I'm supposed to."_

 _Michonne nodded silently, looking towards Carl as he gently removed a weepy Judith from beneath his sheet, shushing her as he transferred her to Father Gabriel's arms. Once securely under his sheet, Father Gabriel turned to give Rick and Michonne a reassuring smile._

" _She'll be safe," he said. "I promise."_

" _Take Sam with you!" Jessie interjected, pushing Sam towards the minister._

" _No mom!" Sam nearly shouted, drawing Rick's ire. "I want to stay with you. I can be brave. I promise."_

 _Michonne watched as Jessie looked down at her son, contemplating whether or not he would be up to the task. She wasn't convinced. Michonne considered insisting Sam join Father Gabriel, but rationalized this might cause an even larger disturbance. They couldn't afford that. And so, she looked on as Father Gabriel turned and walked slowly towards the church, his assured gait repelled the walkers and created a clear path towards Judith's safety._

 _Turning back to Rick, they linked hands again, and began to move. The walkers skirted closer and closer to them, but if everyone remained calm and kept the pace slow, they would make it._

" _Mom?" Sam said in a loud whisper._

 _Michonne gasped, as she felt Ron's grip tighten around her hand._

" _Sam?" Jessie said, softly. "Sweetie, you can do this. I know you can. Please walk. Come on Sam. Look at me Sam. I need you to come with me. We're almost there."_

" _We gotta go now!" Rick whispered, tugging at Sam's arm._

 _Michonne looked on as the traumatized boy anxiously looked from his mother to Rick and back. As Rick attempted to pull them forward, a walker reached between mother and son and seized Sam's right hand, tearing the flesh from the top. Sam screamed, as Jessie dropped his hand in revulsion. Sam, in shock, lifted his mutilated hand into the air. Instinctively, Rick let go of his other hand, pulled his axe from its belt holster, and quickly dropped the blade onto Sam's hand, severing it at the wrist. Jessie gasped in shock as the limb tumbled to the grass._

 _Michonne and Rick gaped at each other, stunned at the turn of events. Michonne watched as Ron broke their chain, stepping out in front of Rick. On heightened alert, she reached behind her back to unsheathe her katana. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as all but what was happening in her sightline faded to black._

 _Ron pulled out a gun from under his sheet, lifted it up, and aimed it at Rick's head. Michonne could hear the rumbling of the walkers surrounding them, still oblivious to the fact that a food source was amongst them. The quiet whimpering of a shocked Sam rattled in her ears as she trained her sights on Ron._

" _This is all your fucking fault," Ron muttered, cocking the gun and flexing his finger on the trigger._

 _A split second before he could fire, Michonne lunged forward, driving her sword through Ron's back, the tip exiting his chest. Ron, eyes wide open but unseeing, pulled the trigger, launching a bullet from the chamber._

 _Stunned, Michonne retracted her sword. Jessie and Sam looked on in horror as Ron stumbled to his knees, twitching for a few moments, before walkers besiege him, tearing his body to pieces. Rick looked towards a teary Michonne, nodding in acknowledgement that she had done what needed to be done._

" _Dad?" Carl called out, looking back and forth between Rick and Michonne, before dropping to the ground, blood gushing from his face._

" _No!" Michonne shouted, rushing towards her fallen boy._

 _Rick reached him first and quickly dropped to his knees to cradle his son. He rose with him in his arms, then looked towards Michonne for guidance._

" _We need to get him to the infirmary now!" Michonne yelled._

" _Stay by my side," Michonne shouted at Jessie, observing how the dazed woman had begun to slow down. "Move, now!"_

 _Terror held Michonne's heart hostage, as she slashed her way towards the infirmary, clearing the pathway for all of them. She couldn't lose him. She wouldn't. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to do whatever it took to save him. She would die first before she would lose another son._

* * *

" _Awwww, Judy-bear," Michonne said, gently rubbing an agitated Judith's back as they waited outside Carl's room in the infirmary. "Daddy's going to come out soon to give you hugs and kisses. I promise."_

 _She planted a kiss on the top of the baby's head, looking down as Judith snuggled deeper into her arms. She swayed back and forth, thinking of how she was still covered in filth, only having had a few minutes to clean up because of her mad rush to check in on Carl after they– the Alexandrians had dispatched the herd. After they had arrived at the infirmary, Denise quickly sprang into action, assessing Carl's injuries and working diligently to clear his exposed eye socket of debris._

 _Michonne looked over to the partially open door, glimpsing Rick as he sat next to Carl's bed. He had been stabilized, but was still unconscious. Thankfully, the bullet had ricocheted of his orbital bone, costing him an eye, but had kept bone and slug fragments from penetrating his skull. It would be a while before the true damage could be assessed, and Denise had cautioned them that he still might not live, or might have significant neurological damage if he did. This stark reality brought both Rick and Michonne to their knees. They had cried in each other's arms, grateful of the quiet comfort the other's presence had brought._

 _Through the open door, she listened as Rick prayed by Carl's bedside. The unabashed prayers of a father, bargaining with all his might, to save his own flesh and blood. She stood there, swaying Judith in her arms, thinking of what they would need to do to ensure Carl's recovery. For the first time that day, her thoughts returned to the mother who had lost a son a few short hours ago. The despair of taking Ron's life branded her like an ulcer on her soul. Once the gun appeared, her actions became muscle memory. Perhaps she should have felt more regret, but the choice between her family's safety and the loss of a troubled young man, was no choice at all._

 _She would have never wished the loss of a child on any parent. She thought of Sam, ashen and nearly catatonic, lying in another bed only a few steps from where she stood. Jessie, thankfully, had gotten the message to stay away from her and the Grimes, at least for now. Carol was in the other room consoling, which was another problem, but one Michonne wasn't willing to even consider at the moment._

 _Instead, she listened to the soft, lilting voice of Rick as he begged his son to stay with them._

" _I was wrong Carl. I see that now. I thought these people were stupid, weak. That we wouldn't be able to teach 'em. I was wrong. You should have seen what they did! The rose up. All of 'em. They fought for this place! This is our home now. We'll patch up the walls. We'll let in more people. Everything is possible now. It's possible because of you, because of Judith, because of Michonne. The three of you, you made me see. I want to build this world for you. Please let me Carl. Let me show you what this world could be. Please stay with me."_

 _Michonne bowed her head, tears flowing freely and dampening the top of a sleepy Judith's head. She looked up as she heard the familiar clacking of boots against hardwood floors. Her eyes landed on a red-eyed, disheveled Rick as he emerged from Carl's room. He looked from her to Judith, a small smile gracing his lips._

" _There you are," he croaked, leaning in to grab her arm. "I think it might help if you'd talk to him too. That ok with you?"_

 _She nodded slowly, watching him as she transferred a yawning Judith into his arms. She looked on as he brought the baby's face towards his, giving her a tender kiss on the cheek. Michonne gave the baby one last pat, before turning around and walking into Carl's room._

 _She gasped as her gaze found him. Shirtless, but cleaned up by some good Samaritans, on his back, in seemingly peaceful slumber. The despondency of seeing this young man she loved so much broken in such a way, stilled her heart. She sat down next to him, reaching out to grab his hand and hold it firmly in between two of hers. She wanted to scream. Cry out to the heavens for all the losses this young man had suffered in his few years. She knew it would do no good. The fates took as they saw fit. And so, she examined his features, and pulled together her disorderly musings to share with him what she knew to be true._

" _You've been such a light in my life, pretty much since the moment I met you," she began, stroking the palm of his hand with her thumb, a pacifying motion she had committed to memory from her days mothering Andre._

" _I knew you were a special young man, destined for greatness. I could feel it in my bones."_

 _She watched him intently, looking for any signs that he could hear her, that he too had not forsaken her. Her chest tightened as she let her mind go to the place she had been rejecting since the bullet pierced his body. The place that told her that only evil prevailed this world. The place that took her very soul and turned it to ashes._

 _Carl had given her the courage to rise from those ashes. To demand a reckoning for all she had lost and all she would never let leave her grasp again. She mourned for her first son. That sweet boy that she had been forced to surrender to this cruel world. She had reclaimed part of what she had lost in the all-encompassing love of this fine young man. She would not concede his loss without a fight. She would not give into her sorrow._

" _I never told you this, but when Andre was two months old, he got really, really sick. Actually, he'd been sick pretty much since we first brought him home from the hospital. I thought the doctors and nurses would think I was this crazy new mom, bringing him in practically every day, but I was scared out of my mind. Having a child is such a solitarily devastating proposition. Your heart is no longer yours. This tiny thing holds it, along with all your hopes and dreams, in its tiny hands."_

 _She wavered, her thoughts retreading the fine landscape of terror that had gripped her during Andre's illness. The same feeling now constricted the muscles around her chest, forcing her heart to beat across edges of pain._

" _At first, the doctors didn't know what it was. They just kept poking and prodding my sweet baby until his tiny arms were covered in bruises. It's impossible to explain to a baby why someone is hurting him and won't stop."_

 _She hesitated again, as she felt slight pressure exerted on the hand that held Carl's. Denise had mentioned something about 'reflexive muscle' activity, so she didn't want to get her hopes up too much. She looked down at their intertwined hands and watched as he gently squeezed her hand again, then slowly released it. The tears that had been steadily dropping down her cheeks, stopped, shocked, but heartened._

" _Mike and I were at our wit's end. He wasn't eating at all, so they had to put a feeding tube into my poor baby. I remember sitting at his bedside, wishing… praying that God would show mercy and not take him from me."_

 _She looked on, desperately seeking any visible sign that Carl was still with her. But his slack hand suggested otherwise._

" _They finally figured out what it was. Some obscure protein that I had been secreting in my milk was causing the problem. Imagine that? I was the one making him sick. Bitter irony."_

 _She looked up to the ceiling, willing her tears to break ranks and flee. Her heart couldn't take much more._

" _When your kid is sick, there's a special brand of fear that leaches into your very soul. Something that'll make you fight to make things ok. I'll fight for you Carl. I'll do everything to keep you here. I will not let you go. I just need you to fight too. We're the Wonder Twins, remember? Yeah, I know you think they're corny, but you're missing the point! No villain can defeat us because… it's the two of us. Please Carl, fight!"_

 _Tears rolled in steady streams down her face as she railed against all that had been taken from her, and all that she now refused to relinquish to destiny. They would make their own. As she drew in a long, labored breath, she watched in awe as the eyelashes of his right eye began to flitter. Her heart filled with hopefulness as her stomach plummeted, not daring to believe._

 _True as day, Carl opened his eye, scanning the room until he landed on Michonne. Gazing up at her, he squeezed her hand once more._

* * *

"What was that for?" she asked, her arms and legs delightfully wrapped around his torso, lazing in the soft kiss he had landed on the tip of her nose.

"Everythin'," he replied. "Besides, can't a man just kiss the woman he loves?"

She giggled at the thought of Rick loving her. The very idea filling her with a hopefulness she had been prepared to pack away. Looking over, she discovered the pure adoration in his eyes; he was smitten.

"I do believe he can," she replied.

She had woken to find herself on top of her duvet, with the arms of a sleeping Rick curled protectively around her waist. It had been two weeks since she moved into her new home, which now seemed to contain more artifacts from the Grimes' than their own house. They hadn't yet revisited their living situation, but Michonne was enjoying the special warmth their loyal presence had brought her.

Tonight, it was just the two of them, talking and lounging in her bed. Enid was visiting from the Hilltop, and Carl had eagerly opted to stay home and babysit Judith. This gave the couple precious time to connect in ways that hadn't before. It hadn't gone beyond kisses and touches, but the ache that each felt made it seem more of a matter of _when_ versus _if_. The realization was cathartic for both, each having firmly staked a claim to the other's heart.

They'd spent most of the previous night talking about anything, and everything. Discussing how together, they could "reorder this world," make things right again. Telling each other secrets they'd never shared with another living soul. Sharing their unfiltered truth of how their journey in this new world - together and apart - had shaped their spirit. After everything had been said, they finally fell asleep on top of her new bed.

At some point, Rick had taken off his boots, which were now haphazardly strewn across her bedroom floor. His stockinged foot rubbed across the smooth skin of her calve, drawing her closer to him.

She reached over to stroke his chin, spellbound by the scant sprinkling of gray hairs that, improbably, only served to add to his allure. She wanted him. It was as simple as that. She wanted to plant her flag on the very ground on which the Grimes lived, claiming them as her own.

Michonne let go of the fear, the doubts, and the guilt that had plagued her since his death. Silently, purposefully, she released her heart for his diligent care. She would take it all. The good times and bad, the times when darkness would surely rear its head and attempt to steal what was rightly hers. She would fight to the death for all of them, for all of him.

Rick gazed at her intently, his eyes widening as he watched the transformation roll across her face. The anticipated euphoria of being with her stoked his fires in a way he could barely articulate. The heat within him began to roar as he stared into the deep, dark, lusty pools of her eyes, seeing only the same longing and need reflected back at him. Confidently, he reached over to cup her cheek in his hands, using his callous covered thumb to gently rub her cheek, the feathery touches kindling her own flame.

Smiling her consent, he leaned over, pulling her towards him, as he flipped her onto her back and covered her with his body. He steadied himself on his elbows, not wanting to put weight on her. He peered down at her, dazzled by this woman's rare beautiful and his overwhelming desire to consume all of her. He couldn't imagine ever reaching his fill.

He tucked his head into her shoulder, absorbing the spice scent of whatever beauty product she'd recently formulated; he'd never smelled this scent on her before. The aroma of summertime at the beach and cinnamon dragged his senses. His tongue darted out, licking a slow, sweet trail down her neck and across her collarbone. She gasped, momentarily shivering as her body jerked upwards.

He gently, but firmly held her down as he worked his way back up. His tongue dawdled as he skimmed the edges of her ear, finally reconnecting their lips in a fervent kiss that elicited moans from both. He had wanted this for so long, but eagerness trumped any ability to control his hunger and savor the moment. He lifted an arm to caress her face, as his tongue continued its exploration, gliding into her mouth, tasting her essence.

She felt that familiar stirring, that wanting to join, that deep rooted desire. She opened her legs, allowing him to settle in and take of her bounty. Shifting to his knees, he broke their kiss, causing a look of confusion to reach Michonne's furrowed brow. He smiled down at her as he began unbuttoning his shirt. The anticipation sped up her heart; she could practically hear it. Drawing the shirt out of his pants, he discarded it on the floor beside the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.

She sat up, taking in his broad shoulders, his chest, covered in a light patch of hair, stippled by the trials he'd endured to get here. She pulled her tank top off, freeing her breasts as they bounce against her bare chest. He inhaled sharply, reaching over to caress them. The smooth, supple skin yielded to his fingertips, her nipples standing at attention before even meeting is touch.

Easing her back down, he traveled first to her lips, gently pulling on her bottom lip with his teeth. He kissed them once more, before letting his lips make that slow, methodical trek down her body. He pledged to visit each and every monument offered up for his pleasure.

He first stopped to admire the glossy hue of her breasts, their silken texture inviting his roaming tongue to stay a while. He obliged, letting his tongue create an imprint on each hardened nub, before sucking it into his mouth and pulling gently with his teeth, getting an immediate response for his efforts. He smiled into her chest as he worked his way down, taking a moment for his lips to circle her navel and leave hot, wet kisses on her barely perceivable bump.

Lowering himself into the valley of her outstretched legs, he went to work pulling off her shorts, all of her laid bare for him. He reveled in the view, taking in the gleam of arousal coating her folds, as well as the sparse hairs above. He leaned in, taking a long, deep inhale, his mouth watering at the sight. He steadied himself as the heady aroma of her lust overpowered his faculties. He was enraptured.

Her legs trembled as he blew on her, the cool breath hitting her most sensitive of areas. He stilled her, wrapping his arm around her thighs and pulling her center closer to him. He lowered his hands, palming both cheeks and giving them a firm squeeze. He dove in, ferocious, like a hunted man on his final escape. His lips and tongue devouring ever part of her, as the cadence of his movements created their own melody.

Her moans filled the room as his swirled his tongue around her bud. His fingers penetrated her, slipping through her folds in search of the places where her pleasure resided. She clenched down on his fingers, as the rhythmic humming of his lips on her bud carried her closer to nirvana. He gave one final suckle. She erupted, sighing loudly as her legs trembled and her body left the bed, taking the sheets knotted in her fists with her.

"Holy shit," she exclaimed, her breath coming in short, animated spurts. "That was… my God!"

He laughed into her thigh, thrilled to have pleased her. He made his way up her body once more, landing on her lips, and sipping from them once more. He let her feel, taste herself on his lips. It was intoxicating. The lioness in her roared, turning slightly to push him over and onto his back. He smiled, loving this battle for dominance. The feisty side of her sparked his engine, further stiffening his engorged member, laying thick and heavy in his constricting jeans.

"My turn," she smiled, straddling his waist, as she slowly scooted down his body, raking her naked core across his belly, causing his torso to contract.

Her tongue left a wet path down the center of his chest, causing goosebumps and the fine hairs to glisten as she made her way down. Sitting on his clothed thighs, she unbuckled his belt, as he arched his back in response.

She unbuttoned his jeans, crawling backwards to the foot of the bed to pull them off, leaving him exposed, aside from the boxers that share the same color as his eyes. Her eyes were glued to the hardened outline visible through his boxers, the girth of it tantalizing her senses. Not wanting to wait, he took it upon himself to pull them off and discard them to the side of bed.

She looked at him, slightly propped up on the headboard, staring back at her.

"You gonna keep me waitin'?" he asked, watching the candles she had lit create intricate patterns on the ceiling, bathing her in an angelic glow.

On hands and knees, she crawled back towards him, stopping to straddle and set her bareness on his knees, gentle so as not to hurt him. Her hands by her side, she leaned in and swiftly licked the wetness from his tip. He jerked up, gasping as the overwhelming sensation rippled through his body.

"Ah!" he yelped. "You're gonna kill me! I can tell."

She giggled, taking the entire dome into her mouth, tugging it gently with her lips. She wrapped her hand around his shaft, gently pulling upwards in a duet with her lips. He brought his hand to her head, fisting her locs, as she drew him deeper in her mouth, awakening each and every nerve ending he had.

He floated outside his own body, the ecstasy dulling his senses to anything that wasn't her. He had found his paradise. He looked on as she upped the pressure, bringing the exquisite threat of orgasm to the brink. The blood rushed downwards, speckling his neck and chest in a rosy tint. Gripping her locs more firmly, he stilled her, knowing he could not take much more.

She beamed as she moved forward to straddle his waist, their wetness commingling. She leaned in to capture his lips, lifting herself up over his length, and slowly sinking down onto him. His eyes closed as a low growl left his lips. The ache making her dizzy, she slowed down, pausing a moment to calm her breathing, before finally settling firmly in his lap.

He pulled her towards him, reveling in the sweet, tight heat that surrounded him. He held his breath, willing himself to show restraint. She started slow, giving both a chance to steady themselves. She rode him, up and down, at a deliciously slow speed that scorched his very being.

"Come on," she purred, reaching down to fist the base of his shaft as it slipped in and out of her.

Retaking control, he spun her onto her back, momentarily knocking the breath from her lungs and causing a rhapsodic sensation to reverberate through her center. He reared up onto his knees, careful not to put any of his weight on her belly, as he reached a hand between them, taking her bud between his fingers. Keeping his weight in his good knee, he drove into her with abandon, maintaining his pace, while rubbing her slippery center. His final stroke lit the fire that pulled an ethereal moan from her. He continued rocking into her as she pulsed in his arms.

Her legs, still tingling, remained wrapped around his waist, as the remnants of her orgasm lingered. Looking down at her sated visage, he let go. The force of his release ignited bits of light that bounced within his field of vision, like fireflies at dusk in the summertime. Reversing onto his back and drawing her to his chest, he was mesmerized by the joint fluttering of their hearts. He looked down at her, taking in the serene, delicate smile on her lips. Bliss had overwhelmed them both, setting a confident tenor that would guide them towards whatever was to come next. It didn't matter, they'd be ready for anything. After all, they'd come this far, and this indeed was love.

* * *

 **A/N** : This show… What is the point of ANY of this if Carl is dead? Grrrr. The rest of this story is dedicated to Carl and CR. Both deserved much, much better.

As always, thank you for reading!


	8. What the Fates Would Have Decided

Rick studied her profile like a man on a quest to discover the meaning of life, who then suddenly realizes it has been in front of him the entire time. His mind stilled, as he basked in the tranquility enveloping the room and keeping them safe in a contented bubble of their own making. His eyes departed her form for a moment to glance up towards the window, taking in the beauty of those few minutes rarely witnessed. when dawn forfeited its hold and gently turned into day.

His eyes knowingly made their way back to her, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her uncovered chest, mesmerized by the telltale evidence of her deep slumber. He lay there, observing the signals he had committed to memory long ago, back when they had spent those weeks on the road together, searching for a new place to call home.

Back when they had just begun to really _know_ each other. Back when the mere idea of there being trust, let alone love between them, would have been too foreign a concept to give serious consideration. The fact that he had unintentionally watched her even then, and had remember her patterns, now flooded his senses with the realization that he had wanted her, _needed_ her, for so long.

He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, his open palm cradling his head, absorbing the calm radiating from her very being. A smile crested his lips, as he watched her nose wrinkle and her lips turn up slightly, as if someone had told a silly joke she wasn't sure she should laugh at, or instead, roll her eyes. The sudden hitch of her breathing, and subsequent slight shrugging of her shoulders, broadened his smile.

 _I love her so much._

He recalled how she used to turn from her back to her stomach during sleep, seemingly fitful, but never quite waking. These days, she'd gotten into the habit of turning onto her side, subconsciously avoiding any pressure to the precious gift she carried. She now faced him, giving him a full view of her face as the dim light fell across it, allowing him a moment to rejoice in its splendor.

He reached towards her, desperate to feel her heartbeat next to his. His right hand absentmindedly intertwined with her left, as he continued to observe the inescapable serenity finding refuge upon her face. He brought his hand to her face, where he proceeded use a finger to draw an intricate design from the tip of her nose, over the bridge, across her brow, finally landing on her cheek. Cupping her cheek, he watched her smile, eyes still closed, while turning her head in his hand and planting a kiss on his palm.

"Good morning," she whispered, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"G'mornin' to you too," he replied, jubilant in the knowledge that all of this was indeed real and not some fanciful dream his mind's eye had fabricated.

She opened her eyes to find him staring directly at her, a loving smile crowning his lips. She could scarcely believe what they had done, smiling bashfully as she recalled the previous night's activities. She stretched, cat-like, flexing from her toes to the tips of her fingers as she let out a long, protracted yawn. He chuckled at her evident bliss, taking in her bare body as the sheet shifted around her. As she settled back onto the mattress, she grinned at the sexy figure gazing back at her.

"You still tired?" he inquired, raking his eyes over her nude body, soft and pliant, backlit by the early morning winter sun streaming through the sheer curtains framing the bedroom windows.

His right hand trailed in an arc across her face, before skimming down to her sweet, luscious lips. He caressed her plump lower lip with the pads of thumb, anxious for a kiss.

"You wore me out," she giggled, taking note of the satisfying ache running through her body, undulating like waves lapping at the shore.

While the thought of being with Rick in _that_ way had crossed her mind in the past, it had never felt like the _right_ time. Something else always seemed to take priority. Now, the time was theirs and she was no longer willing to let anything get in the way. She deserved this slice of happiness; they both did.

She chuckled quietly, appreciating how the reality of their coupling had far exceeded any previously held fantasies. His was a passionate, intoxicating, all-consuming lover. She wallowed in his adoration for her. The care he took to please her. The places he roamed, and the places he lingered. How he instinctively knew when she wanted a more tender touch, and when she desired to feel the full dominance of his adulation.

Her smile was the only light needed as the candles strewn throughout the room had long since abandoned their flame. He happily walked into that light, leaning in to capture her lips with his, while snaking his arm across her waist and pull her bare body flush against his.

She shivered under his touch, as he smiled against her parted lips, his tongue begging entry. The soft cadence of her moans brought every inch of him back to life as he rolled onto his back, dragging her naked body on top of his. She circled her arms around his neck, already threatening his stamina, as her fingers gripped and slowly release his bedraggled curls.

He reveled in her care, determined to treat her delicate caresses with all the reverence they deserved. He ran his labor-scarred hands across the planes of her shoulders, the pads of his thumb stopping to stroke the pebbly scar on her shoulder. He marveled at the rough edges of the surgical reminder she had incurred before the turn, pondering how the high school swimmer Michonne had been might have differed from the exquisite woman whose body currently encircled his own.

His hands wandered over the silken, blemish-free expanse of her back, noting the deep inward curve of her waist, as his hands trekked to the firm, yet pliable globes pleading for his attentions. The moment his hands found their prize, he gave her heavenly bottom a gentle squeeze, eliciting a low, guttural moan from her parted lips. His tongue continued to make its acquaintance with hers, as his hands caught and released the delectable part of her that he knew forevermore would be his, and his alone.

He felt every bit of the searing heat arising from her core, her wet stickiness grinding into him as his engorged member leapt in response, in pursuit of ecstasy, as it rocked across the crevice of her backside. He gestured for her to lift up slightly from his torso, giving him the space needed to reach between their bodies and palm his meaty girth. The heady aroma of her arousal sent a tingling sensation down his spine, causing his hand to involuntarily jerk as he handled his length with steady strokes. Inhaling, he gripped his member tightly, guiding it home.

Her smoldering center snuggly tugged and clung to him, the ebb and flow nearly taking his breath away as he sank deeper into her. She pulled up to watch him, her midnight eyes locked in a sensual tango with his ice blue orbs. He could only look on as she rose up, never losing their connection, and leaned back to grip his thighs with both hands. The light trickling into the formerly dim room brought focus to the erotic sheen coating her body, as the quietness was only interrupted by their heavy breaths and her incessant moans.

Both hands found her hips, as she rose and fell, and he surrendered the full extent of his passion into her body for safekeeping. He wanted to move faster, cure the ache that was causing flashes of light to spark from his periphery, but she had other plans. She gyrated on top of him in steady, excruciatingly slow circles, her hips moving to a beat heard solely by the two of them. He watched her stomach contract and a sharp gasp leave her lips as he removed one hand from her hip, ghosting her goosebumps strewed skin, to graze the firm slickness of her bud.

He anticipated the erratic jerk in which she responded, gripping her hip in his calloused yet gentle hand, while using the other to stoke her fire. Keeping his eyes unwaveringly on her face, he watched the intense build up to her crescendo. She lifted her face towards the ceiling as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She brought her eyes back to his, not wanting to miss a moment of watching him watch her.

His eyes locked with hers as the exquisite sensation of her climax seemed to pull the remaining breath from her lungs. The pulsating sensation of her vibrating core dragged his release from him, jettisoning it to the depths of her cavern. Spent, she fell onto his chest, their sweat-slicked bodies seeking comfort in the embrace only the other could provide.

The lay in harmonious silence, satiated and begging off sleep in order to rise and face the day. As much as they both would have liked to remain wrapped around each other, they had business to address and little time to spend the day savoring the afterglow of their union.

Several minutes passed as the soothing tandem beat of their hearts lulled her into a brief slumber. She finally lifted her head to see his eyes open and gazing down on her. The wide smile on his face elicited another giggle from her, followed closely by a pensive stare towards the headboard behind him.

"What'a we tell Carl, right?" Rick asked, knowing this would be the first thing that came to her mind.

She nodded, lowering her head to drop a kiss on the center of his chest.

"I'm pretty sure he already suspects _somethin'_ ," Rick continued, laying a warm kiss on her forehead. "You know it's nearly impossible to get anythin' past that boy. He'll be happy though. I know that for sure."

"Maybe so," she began, turning her head to lay it against his chest. "But it's one thing to _want_ us under the same roof, to want us to… see what this could be. It might be a whole other thing to actually _see_ us together. I don't know. I just don't want him to worry about us anymore. He's done enough of that."

"He's a smart boy Michonne," Rick began, carefully parsing his words. "He'll know this is _different_. You've been the only mother he's known since… The only mother Judith knows. Trust me. He'll be happy we're together. I know it."

She inhaled deeply, taking in his words. Mother. She'd loved Carl since practically the first time she laid eyes on him, intrigued by the astute young man's ability to understand and empathize far beyond his years. She thought back to how he had unknowingly helped her grieve for Andre. How almost losing him after the herd had made her resolve to protect this place even more clear. Loving this sweet boy had been an honor. Rick was right. This _was_ different.

* * *

" _It doesn't matter Carl," Michonne said, attempting, yet failing to kept the exasperation out of her voice. "This is what you need to do to get well. So, guess what? You do it. No more bullshit."_

 _Carl blinked at her, shocked by the tenor of her voice; she rarely got mad at him, even when she should have. He was frustrated lying there, bouncing a tennis ball towards the ceiling and attempting to catch it. It had been two weeks since the herd and though he knew he was slowly healing, he badly wanted to go home. Just to sleep in his own bed if nothing else. But each time he tried lifting even his head from the pillow, the excruciating pain from his injury inundated his senses and nearly caused him to pass out. Denise had insisted he remain in the infirmary until the wound had stabilized and the headaches had dissipated. She estimated another week or so before he could be released._

 _The vision in his remaining eye was blurry, so simply keeping it open had required a Herculean effort. Denise had said this would eventually go away, but he needed to start therapy immediately to ensure his remaining eye returned to normal. Because he couldn't lift his head, the spatial therapy she had recommended focused on him tossing the ball towards the ceiling, then trying to catch it on its way down._

 _He had been practicing for the past 2 days and had yet to catch the ball once. He was fed up with the lack of progress. He knew lashing out at Michonne was wrong, but he was upset and discouraged, worried that he would never be able to compensate for what he had lost. He stilled his hand, cupping the ball in his palm and laying it next to him on the narrow infirmary bed. He looked up at Michonne._

 _Her eyes soften as she peered down at his downtrodden expression. She wasn't used to this side of him. Even when he was angry, there was a kindness in his eyes that would always shine for her. Now, he was… different. Denise had said to expect some personality changes, but she hadn't really been prepared for this version of Carl. While his motor skills seemed to be fine, since they didn't have the appropriate equipment, there was no way to really tell what type of damage had been done to his brain. Michonne swallowed hard. The look of anguish in his eye causing tears to stumble from her eyes._

" _You said you wouldn't cry anymore," he implored, closing his eye to block out the vision of her tears._

" _I'm not crying for you," she retorted, sitting down in the narrow space between Carl and the edge of the bed. "I stubbed my toe this morning and it's killing me!"_

 _He opened his eye, scanning her face for proof that he had heard her clearly. He didn't know why, but since his accident, it was harder for him to tell when she was kidding or not. For a few seconds, the double vision he was experiencing went away, leaving the clear look of mischief in her eyes for him to see. He laughed, jostling his head, and causing a groan to filter through his pursed lips._

" _Sorry!" she exclaimed. "I always forget how funny you think I am. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself cackling like a loon on my behalf._

" _Yeah, right," he said, his patented protracted eye roll still securely intact. "You caught you off guard. I wouldn't quit your day job if I were you."_

 _He returned her smile, looking up as she quickly wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. She held his hand as they sat there, his eye close, Michonne grateful for the peace enclosing them. Bit by bit, the old Carl was reemerging. She prayed she would get all of him back, but having him still with her, still with them? That truly was everything._

" _Do you think I'll ever be normal?" he queried, keeping his eye shut to her prying looks. "I do– don't feel like myself anymore. Everything feels hazy, like I'm in a dream and trying to escape, but can't find the exit. I don't want to be like this Michonne."_

" _Carl," she said, gently squeezing his hand between both of hers. "You went through something major. It's perfectly normal that you won't feel like yourself for a while."_

 _She looked down at their hands, sighing deeply as she continued, "I promise you that I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll do this together. I just need you to try."_

 _He gave a slight nod, not wanting to trigger another headache episode. He was tired and wanted to go home, but knew he needed to stay. Needed to heal and be ready to fight for this place, just like the rest of the community had during the herd._

" _Dad told me what happened," he whispered, his fair lashes catching the light as he blinked rapidly. "About Ron… about Sam. I feel terr–"_

" _No Carl," she interrupted, bending towards him until they were nearly face to face. "I will tolerate you being Captain Emo, but this? Blaming yourself for something you have no part in? That, I will not do."_

" _But I knew Ron was mad," he began. "I even knew he had a gun. I thought I could calm him down, fix the situation. I should have come to you."_

 _He closed his eye and bowed his head. If there was any hint of disappointment in her eyes, he didn't want to see it._

" _Yeah, you should have," she sighed, looking up at the abstract print hanging on the wall behind Carl's head. "I knew something was up when you came out of the garage. I should have taken time to force you to tell me what it was about. I should have, bu–"_

" _No Michonne," Carl declared, opening his eye once more. "You don't get to blame yourself for something you had no part in."_

 _She smiled at his paraphrase and said, "touché mon ami. You got me there."_

 _He gave her a genuine smile, a glimmer of his old self finally bubbling to the surface after the chaos of the past two weeks._

" _How's Sam doing?" he asked, curious to know how the boy was coping with his injury. He felt badly for him._

 _Her eyes trained on the painting, she sighed deeply, dropping her head to her chest as she said, "I don't really know. I've been busy getting the community back into shape and, of course, coming to see my favorite person in the world. I haven't had time. You know I love you to pieces."_

 _She watched the smile illuminate his entire face. She beamed back at him. He, along with Rick and Judith were her favorite people left and she felt some sort of way about how the Anderson saga had unfolded. She knew Rick hadn't been in his right state of mind, but it had… stung. She was hurt that he hadn't confided in her about what was going on with him. She figured that letting go of the hurt would be difficult, but not impossible._

" _I love you too Michonne," Carl said, a wide grin still plastered on his face. "You love my dad too right?"_

 _The question jerked her out of her melancholy. She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a sense of what he was trying to say._

" _I love all of you," she said, wanting to shut down the inquisitive boy._

" _I know you do," he replied, not exactly sure why he had asked. It had simply popped into his head._

 _There had been times when his dad and Michonne had sat at his bedside and he had feigned sleep because he didn't feel like talking, but he had overheard their conversations and at some point, it occurred to him that something might be going on. He would have been happy if there was. He loved Michonne and the calming influence she had on his dad. He knew his dad was in some way taken by Jessie, but he couldn't imagine him with someone who couldn't take care of themselves, let alone Judith. Not in this world._

" _Did you check on Spencer?" he asked, shifting gears. "I know you guys are friends. Is he doing ok?"_

 _Spencer had certainly grown on him, but how smitten he was with Michonne still threw him off. He couldn't articulate why, but he didn't exactly like how much time Spencer and Michonne had been spending together before the herd. He knew his dad didn't like it either but also wasn't quite sure why._

" _Yeah, I checked on him," she replied. "He's not doing great, but he'll get there. It's not easy being the only person left in your family."_

 _She bowed her head, thinking of the young man who knew, like she did, the unique pain of being the only one left. She had been too busy putting the town back together to visit him more than once but vowed to catch up with him when they got the all-clear to bring Carl home. She looked down at Carl, secure in the knowledge that she would do everything in her power to make sure he was ok._

* * *

"What did y'all want for the baby?" Rick asked, his body wrapped around a prone Michonne.

They'd been lounging in bed since their early morning frolic, enjoying the intimacy and quiet before

Carl and Judith, with Enid likely in tow, arrived for breakfast. She lifted her head from his chest and gazed into the deep azure pools peeking down at her. The silent effortlessness with which they luxuriated never ceased to surprise her. With anyone else, in this bed, in this moment, this would have been an awkward conversation. For them, it was just the sharing of their hearts, honestly and willingly.

"Is it weird to talk about Spencer when I'm in bed with you?" he asked, truly wanting to know. "I don't know. Nothing ever feels strange when I'm with you, but…"

She gazed up at him, noting how the mid-morning sun added starbursts to his eyes. Was it weird? It didn't feel like it. After all, they could talk about anything. They talked about everything. There were no more secrets.

"Not for us," she affirmed, catching his lingering gaze one more. "You and me? Everything is normal."

He smiled down at her. She was right. There was never a moment with he was with her where he didn't feel like that was exactly where he was supposed to be… wherever she was where he was meant to be.

"We didn't have too many practical conversations about the baby, not really," she replied, twisting around to face him. "It was too soon to actually plan anything. We were… just excited. A little scared, but mostly excited. Before we knew, we'd talk about what he or she would look like, would be like. We talked about how we would prepare them for this world. We talked about how nice it would be to have Judith and Herschie as playmates. I– We thought it was going to be the start of everything."

He nodded, using the soft edge of his calloused thumb to stroke the apples of her cheek. Space and time had given him clarity on Michonne's relationship with Spencer. He had been jealous of it, of their closeness, for a long, long time.

The rational side of him knew it was wrong, impertinent even. He hadn't any reason to be envious nor angry. Their momentary schism had been of his own doing. The wrong-headed dutifulness of a man who was accustomed to saving others. The end of the world hadn't changed that one bit.

"Rick?" She began dropping her cheek to his chest. "Do you think… that you could love a child that wasn't yours as much as you do Carl and Judith?"

"'Course I could," he stated without hesitation.

He gently lifted her head, using his finger to hold her chin and keep her eyes from leaving his. "I _already_ love this baby. I love 'er 'cause… 'cause she's part of you, and you know I love every square inch of you. So, how could I not love her too?"

Michonne sighed, releasing a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Of course, he would love her child. That's the kind of man he was. That was precisely why she loved him. It was just a relief to hear him articulate it. The knowledge soothed any doubts still haunting her subconscious.

"I know you will," she whispered, her eyes steadily holding onto his. "I do."

Peering down at her, he realized there were still things he had yet to share. He closed his eyes and looked up towards the ceiling.

"I'm not sure if you've ever heard the story of Shane from the others," he quietly stated. "Shane was… he was my best friend and partner before… before all of this. He was someone I trusted my life to, trusted my family's life to."

She nodded, beckoning him to continue. She'd heard the name from Maggie, learned there had been some sort of conflict from Glenn, but always sensed this was not a topic that the others wanted to discuss in detail. And so, she had left it alone.

"When Lori and he thought I was dead, they…," he paused, trying to find the words that he had never let cross his lips since he'd had to take Shane's life. "They got together. They didn't know I'd survived, so I got the reason why they did it and I accepted it. I did."

She watched as a wistful smile played on his lips.

"Judith?" he began, his eyes darting around the room. "She's Shane's. I know that, I do. But, I love her with all my heart because, I loved her mother. It's as simple as that."

He looked at her and observed the tears filling her eyes. He reached down, using his thumb to whisk them away before they reached her cheeks.

"It's rare that you get to choose family. I chose Judith and love her like my own. I choose you and I choose this baby. I'm so grateful to get a second chance to do right by you. I promise to do right by her. I promise."

He turned her onto her side and used his hand to run the length of her body, stopping to caress the soft mound just below her navel.

"You asked what Spencer wanted for the baby. I honestly couldn't have guess where we ended up. It's funny, after the herd," she began. "I remember you and I spending all our time going back and forth from the infirmary, cleaning up, doing whatever needed to be done."

He nodded, summoning her to continue.

"Deanna had given me those letters for Maggie and Spencer. Maggie was easy to find, but Spencer? I felt like I was chasing him all over the place, just trying to connect."

"Yeah," he replied. "I remember seeing him at the cleanups, but he never showed up for the group dinners. 'Member that? Having a community meal each night? Figured he just wanted time for himself."

She nodded, retrieving her remembrance of those precarious first few weeks after the herd.

* * *

" _Hey," Michonne said, looking up at Spencer through the open door. "Can I come in?"_

 _Silently, he widened the door, then turned and walked towards the living room as she crossed the threshold. She took a few steps in, tentatively looking around as she watched him retreat from her, shoulders slumped. She wasn't sure what she would fine, but the house seemed to be in good order. Clearing the foyer, she found him slumped on the leather couch, cradling a bottle of cheap whiskey in his arms. She walked over and plopped herself down next to him._

" _Why are you here?" he quietly asked, releasing his gaze from the bookshelf in front of him to peer over at Michonne._

" _I just wanted to see how you're doing," she softly replied. "We haven't really had a chance to catch up since…"_

" _As you can see, I'm aces," Spencer sarcastically retorted, turning back into the house and walking out of her view._

 _He leaned over, placed the nearly empty bottle onto the coffee table, and said, "Sorry. That's not fair. You don't need to worry though. I don't need anyone to check on me; I'm good."_

 _She paused for a few moments, taking in the bewildered, dead tone in his eyes. She thought back to Deanna and how she had always told her that Spencer was better than he knew. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was something there she could use to help him. He was in a bad place, but she owed it to Deanna to try._

" _Yeah, well, that's not how things work around her," she began. "We're a community, which means taking care of our own."_

" _But, I'm not part of your 'own'," he said, turning his attention back to the bookshelf._

" _Spencer, I think you more than proved it after the herd. I saw you out there, trying to keep people safe, trying to save this place for us, for all of us. I see you."_

 _He stared at her. This captivating woman that had bedazzled him since their first meeting. He knew her group, knew Rick's feelings about the Alexandrians. He'd thought she'd felt the same. She looked tired, but hopeful, much more hopeful than he felt anyone had the right to be in this situation._

" _I don't know what I do now Michonne," he pleaded, sighing deeply as he shifted his aching body on the couch. The hard, physical labor had been good for him. He'd used that, along with the whiskey to numb his senses. Make him forget that he was the sole Monroe who had survived._

" _That's why we're here," she said, reaching over to squeeze his knee. "No one can do it alone. Not anymore."_

 _He nodded, closing his weary eyes and dropping his head backwards onto the back of the couch._

" _I never really thought I would make it this far," he began. "I was the good kid, if you could believe that. Aid– Aidan was always getting into trouble. Drugs, alcohol, whatever he could get into, he would do. It broke my mom's heart. I watched how sad that made her, so I had to be good. Obey the rules, get good grades, not embarrass the family."_

" _She was really proud of you Spencer," she declared, looking on as he turned his attention back to her._

 _He studied her, wondering how she could have known._

" _Why?" he asked. "I haven't really done anything remarkable."_

" _Well, let's just say that she saw the potential," she replied, giving him a small smile, which he returned._

" _I just wish I could have seen her one last time. I would have… I don't really know. It just would've been nice."_

" _She left something for you," she said, rising from the couch a bit to retrieve the letter from her back pocket and handed it to him. "I'm not sure what it's about, but she wanted you to know this. When you're done, when you're ready, come see me. I'm here for you. Ok?"_

 _He nodded slightly, turning the envelope in his hands over and over again. His eyes rose as she got up from the couch. It was nice to have her here; nice to have her to talk to. He realized how lonely he'd been and what a treat her presence had been._

" _Remember what I said," she called out. "Come see me. Just, don't take too long._

 _She gave him one final look, then turned towards the front door and out of the Monroe house._

* * *

"I loved Spencer, I truly did," she murmured, tears glistening in her eyes, but not falling. She had finally been able to put her sadness onto the shelf as a memento of life's fickle nature. She would remember, but she realized, this too would pass.

Rick looked down, mildly conflicted as to how to feel about the woman he loved, the woman in his arms, having loved another.

"But," she said, her breath caught in her throat, causing her to hiccup. "It's you. It's always been you. I think you know that."

He nodded. It had always been her as well. The road had not been smooth, but the magnetic force keeping both fixed in each other's orbit was indestructible. They had fought hard to find this anointed place where their hearts, each owned by the other, could truly breath freely. This was not a plaything to toss about, but something held near and dear to both their hearts and something with which they would not easily part.

"But if he… was still here," he began. "I don't know what I would have done if I never had… If I never had this."

She nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. She hadn't let her mind wander to that topic, the mere thought of having to have chosen Rick over Spencer too painful a proposition to have pondered. She had compartmentalized all of it. Things had turned out the way they had always been destined to turn out. She was to have loved Spencer during their brief time together. Then, she was meant to sit in this space, share this world with Rick.

"I choose to believe that things happen the way they were supposed to," she began, the rough hairs coating his chest tickling her nipples as she scouted upwards and placed her lips tantalizing close to his. "We weren't… us earlier because, we were meant to be us _now_. In this time, in this place. I don't know what would have happened if Spencer… if things had turned out differently. I miss him, I do. But, this is what is meant to be right now. I know it in my heart."

"I think 'bout it all the time," Rick acknowledge, his steady gaze never leaving hers. "What could have been if I hadn't… The minute I did what I did, I knew I'd fucked it up. I don't even have an excuse. I felt so guilty and thought I could fix it for everyone but ended up just making it worse."

"That wasn't your finest moment," she teased, sinking deeper into his embrace. "But, I know you and I know why you did it. You thought you could help her, could fix her problems. That's who you are; someone who protects others. But you never gave her a chance to try to save herself. This isn't the old world. Damsels in distress do not survive. Everyone needs to be able to save themselves."

"I cannot imagine what you were thinking when I was…," he replied. "It's hard to avoid thinkin' woulda' shoulda' coulda' ya know?"

"It doesn't help anything now does it?" she probed, sensing the disquiet leaching into their safe space. "Maybe I'd still be with Spencer, maybe you'd have found a way to make it work with Jes–."

"No," he interrupted, his voice louder than he had intended. He softened his gaze to look down at her. "That wouldn't 'ave happened. I knew it wasn't gonna to work from the start. I was just… I don't know. I guess bidin' my time until I could figure out a way to let her down without hurting her too bad. That didn't work well either."

"Well, now you know," she declared. "You can't force things that aren't meant to be."

"Did you see that," he asked, curious since they'd never _really_ had a discussion on the inner workings of his doomed relationship with Jessie. "After… what happened to Glenn and Abe, did you know it wasn't gonna work?"

"Yeah, I did," she replied. "Mostly because it's hard to build on crumbling ground. I knew you would try because, that's who you are. That's one of the things I love about you. But ultimately, I knew it wouldn't work. Even if I wasn't the girl for you, I knew she wasn't either."

"You were _always_ the girl for me," he countered, meaning every single word. "You know that."

"I know that now, but back then? I knew you were struggling. I suspected it wouldn't work, especially with Carl to contend with, but I was happy. So, I wanted _you_ to be happy. I wanted you to give it a chance."

"I guess I saw it as my punishment," he said, the truth pouring out of him as he took in the hazy glint in her eyes. "I don't know. Jessie was someone who was used to not getting her needs met, so she just took the little I was willin' to give her in stride. I still feel bad about that. She didn't deserve it either."

"So, how far do you think you would have taken it?" Michonne asked. "Would I have heard wedding bells?"

"No," he declared. "Never. It could _never_ have been that."

"Hmmmm. That definitely wouldn't have worked for me either," she stated.

"Yeah, I know that," he concurred. "But, I would marry you. No questions asked."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, _really_. I still think about that day and wonder what could have been if…"

"If what Rick?" she implored. "If _nothing_. Who knows what the fates would have decided? What does Carl always say? _This_ is how it's gotta be. And so, it is."

"So, it is," he murmured, leaning down for one last kiss before extracting themselves from their cozy nest.

* * *

 _"I don't get it," Jessie began, bewilderment and disappointment taking root and camouflaging her features. "Why haven't you come by?"_

 _Not wanting to let him avoid her yet again, she had purposefully stood at the top of the stairs to the porch of the infirmary, blocking Rick's path inside._

 _It had been 6 weeks since the herd and for most, life had returned to normal. At least, normal as they now knew it to be._

 _Yet, Rick had not found time to deal with Jessie. He excused it as the community needing him to lead the rebuild. Or that Carl needed him to be more present and was his first priority. But Carl had been home for weeks now and because of Michonne's diligence to his physical therapy, had been healing nicely._

 _Or that he and Michonne had been dutifully working through Deanna's plans and building details on how to proceed. But the truth was that Michonne was spending more of her time with Spencer and Maggie, working closely with them on Deanna's mission. She gave him the details as needed, but they had agreed that she worked on the future, while he focused on how to further gird Alexander is against further breaches._

 _When the day had quieted and he was alone in his bed, with his thoughts, he called it what he considered it to be. Shame, plain and simple. He hated himself for avoiding her but knew of no other way to renounce the ghost of Lori he had been chasing, especially when it looked to others like he had actually been chasing Jessie._

 _The regret of his actions churned his stomach, causing the bile to be drawn up and into his throat, the vile taste closing his throat and causing him to lurch towards the inevitable._

 _He glanced briefly into her glassy eyes, tears ready to unleash a flood gate. It was humiliating that she was the one that finally cornered him. In this moment, he longed for the cool pragmatism of Michonne. If only he had been upfront with him from the start, he might have avoided all of this. Sighing deeply, he allowed his eyes to connect with hers._

 _"I'm sorry Jessie," he lamented. "I just didn't know what to say after..."_

 _He couldn't continue. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to keep his eyes on hers. He owed her that much. As soon as he did, the tears dropped and deep sobs shook her body. Taking slow strides up the stairs to shorten the distance between them, his arms enveloping her as she reached out to him._

" _It's my fault," he continued. "I should have come by to see how you were doing. I just needed to make sure that Carl was alright… that everyone was alright."_

 _He leaned back, creating some necessary distance between them. She looked tired. Worn. The toll of all she'd experience etched across her face. He'd done this. He'd brazenly inserted himself into her toxic marriage. Instead of taking it up with Deanna and convincing her to put a leash on Pete, he'd struck a match onto the powder keg that had been the Andersons. He'd known it was wrong but had somehow convinced himself that he was the only one who could save her._

 _Killing Pete had been one thing, but the callousness with which he had treated Ron was another thing entirely. Still hunting mirages, he'd managed to convince himself that this brutalized young man could somehow forgive the man who had killed his father and left his mother weakened. The signs were there, but hubris had rendered them unreadable._

 _A tsunami of regret washed over him as he thought about the role he'd played in Carl's injury. How that bullet was meant for him. How in the early days of Carl's recovery, he'd have given anything for it to have been him who had been shot. It should have been. How he saved Sam's life, yet still managed to wound the boy even more. How any feelings he had harbored for Jessie had been muted once the blinders had been lifted. It was simple. She just doesn't the one for him._

 _She wailed. For making the mistake of marrying Pete. For staying with him all these years. For bringing children into their disaster of a marriage. For not being able to protect her children in this cruel world. For having to beg this man to save her because she knew she wouldn't be able to save herself. She cried for all of it._

 _He leaned in once more to give an assuring squeeze to her shoulder, observing as the sobs slowly dissolved. She gentle pushed herself further away from him, regaining the distance they had before._

 _"I'm sorry Rick," she croaked, her emotions too frayed to notice the coolness radiating from him as he stood watching her. "I'm still trying to figure this out. I don't know what to do with myself. Carol's helping out, but, I'm alone for the first time in a long, long time. I'm scared. Sam's barely hanging on and I don't know how to help him."_

 _She and Sam had been staying with Carol at the home she'd shared with Tobin. The former victim of domestic violence had been a godsend. She'd helped her help Sam and taken the burden off her shoulders. Truthfully, while she'd been grateful, she'd hoped it would have been Rick._

" _What do I do?" She asked, wary of his reply. "I can't do this on my own and I can't continue being a burden on Carol."_

 _Audibly exhaling, he sought an appropriate answer. He'd brought chaos and pain to this woman's doorstep. For that, his guilt would not abate. Maybe, he didn't want it to. This seemed like the apt punishment for his wrongdoing. This was what he deserved._

 _"Maybe you could move back into your house?" he suggested, scanning her face for a response. "All the repairs have been done and it might be good for you and Sam to get back to somethin' familiar."_

 _He looked on as she visibly shuddered at the thought. She knew she'd eventually have to find a permanent solution. Had to find a way to forge a path for Sam and herself. But this? Moving back into her house of horrors? This wasn't it._

 _"There's no way I can go back there," she stated, her ire piqued by the proposal._

 _"Yeah, 'course not," he agreed, dropping his chin to his chest. "Sorry."_

 _He raised his head to look once more into her sad eyes. He'd done this and somehow, he needed to fix it. He thought about poor Sam, who had taken a liking to Carl. Who might be aided by Carl's presence in his life. He thought about his promise to take care of her, to keep her safe. He thought of all his promises, those spoken and those not, that had given her false hope of the possibility of a life together. He needed to do something._

 _"You and Sam…" he stuttered, the words escaping his lips before he'd had time to properly analyze the ramifications. "Y'all can move in with us."_

 _The moment his impulsive offer left his lips, he was filled with agonizing regret. But peering into Jessie's grateful, hopeful eyes, he knew he couldn't take it back. It was too late._

 _She smiled up at him, grateful for the gesture, grateful that he intended to fulfill his promise. She knew being alone didn't always equate to being lonely, but for her, it was exactly that. Even with Pete, as bad as things were, it had been better than nothing, especially when the world had gone to hell. The thought of having to deal with all of this by herself scared her, leaving her anxiety riddled and paralyzed. She knew she would be safe with him. He would protect her and Sam._

" _Thank you, Rick," she whimpered, seeing a light at the end of her dark, solitary tunnel. "This means the world to me."_

 _He kept his head down as she walked past him and down the stairs. He inhaled deeply, rueful at what his kneejerk reaction had wrought. As the true cost of what he had just done pummeled his senses, he shook his head, desperate to take back all he had offered. His sense of duty and obligation had clouded his judgement and paved a path that he knew would only lead to heartache. Exhaling, he reached down and twisted the door knob, opening the door to the infirmary. Taking in another deep breath, he walked in and closed the door behind him._

 _Dear God, what had he done?_

* * *

"Hey Dad," Carl called out, walking through the front door and towards the kitchen.

With Judith in his arms, he lifted her up into the air, causing the sweet girl to explode in a fit of giggles. He watched as his father looked up, slightly surprised by their earlier than expected arrival. Rick had left Michonne upstairs to get ready, while he'd come down to make breakfast for all of them.

Carl turned back towards the front door and captured Enid's eyes. She followed him through the front door and made her way next to him at the kitchen center island. They exchanged a look before turning back to his father. She too had noticed a palpable change in the air brought on by the relaxed smile on Rick's face.

"Hey yourself," Rick replied, glancing up to look at the three of them lined up at the island. "What are you guys doing here so early? I wasn't expecting you for another half hour or so. Y'all that hungry?"

"First of all, yeah, I'm a growing boy you know," Carl stated, pretending to look around the room as if she could have been hiding in plain sight. "Secondly, where's Michonne?"

Carl looked at his father, clad only in grey sweatpants without a shirt on, as he stirred the contents of the mixing bowl in from of him. He turned to Enid, giving her a smirk that was returned by her raised her eyebrows. He'd won the bet.

"Upstairs getting dressed," he said, dropping the whisk to lean across the island and swoop an eager Judith into his arms. "I thought you guys weren't gonna be here for another hour. Breakfast isn't ready yet."

"Well, Judith's been crying for Michonne and you know how upset she gets," Carl said, shrugging his shoulders.

Rick dropped his head to plant a loving kiss on the top of Judith's head.

"Where Meesown daddy?" Judith queried, squirming to get out of his arms and find Michonne herself.

"She'll be right down sweetheart," he cooed, trying to distract her for her current obsession. "But look at this Judith. We're making pancakes. Don't you want to help me?"

"No!" the little girl pouted, leaning out of her father's embracing and comically crossing her little arms across her chest. "I wan' Meesown now!"

"I'm here baby girl," Michonne called out, rushing towards Judith with her arms wide open.

She took the energetic girl into her arms and gave her a sweet kiss. Looking up at Rick, they both smiled, the afterglow from last night's – and this morning's – events still coursing through their bodies.

Michonne turned to greet Carl and Enid, taken aback by the smug look on both their faces. She furrowed her eyebrows, scanning Carl's face for some sort of indication of the reason for his merriment.

"What?" she puzzled, taking a defiant stance. "Something you'd like to share?"

Rick looked back from the stove where he was preparing the griddle for his famous "daddy cakes," as Judith called them. He chuckled, it suddenly dawning on him that his highly intuitive son might have noticed that something was… different.

"Not really," Carl snorted, amusement evident in his demeanor. "Is there something the two of you would like to share?"

Michonne looked over at Rick, who gave her a noncommittal shrug. If she would have let him, he would have shouted it from the mountain tops. He loved this woman.

 _Sorry sweetheart, we're busted._

Michonne sighed, "I'm not sure how I'm _always_ forgetting that not much gets by you."

She sat down on one of the stools lined up in front of the island. She'd wanted to wait a little bit before telling Carl, maybe give them some more to adjust… more time to just _be_. More time to cherish the wonder of finally being able to fully live in their truth. Her lips turned up at the corners as she began.

"Your dad and I have something we'd like to share."

* * *

A/N: I had to fill in the lines of the story. I know it's a bit painful for our babies, but thankfully, _all_ of this is in the past. As always, thank you for reading!


	9. Never Let You Go

"Be careful out there," Michonne implored, the slight quiver in her voice laying bare her trepidation as Rick and Carl prepared to leave the safe confines of Alexandria. "I expect both of you back tomorrow and in one piece."

Rick wrapped his arms tightly around her, attempting to absorb the fear that had transformed the playful light in her eyes into turbulent seas. Despite her valiant efforts to shield him from it, she couldn't escape the fact that every time the two men she loved most in this world left her sight, her anxiety ratcheted to fever pitch. He smiled down at her, the full bloom of her nearly seven-month pregnancy prevented them from completely bridging the gap separating their hearts. He chuckled as he felt the not-so-gentle vibrations emanating from her belly.

"See?" Michonne teased, giving him a glimpse of the airiness she'd exhibited earlier that morning. " _She_ doesn't want you to leave either."

The morning had been a pleasant one, their home full of joy and laughter as they sat around the table for breakfast. The merriment came to an abrupt halt when Rick shared that he and Carl needed to deliver some equipment to the Kingdom, as well as stop at their trade spot to pick up their share of a largely untouched warehouse store Jesus and Daryl had discovered. Ordinarily, this trip wouldn't have drawn concerns, but they had had to re-clear the shortcut to the Kingdom the previous week, after a large hoard swept through the area. Luckily, no one had been lost, but the possibility made it more difficult to allay Michonne's fears about their looming departure.

He dropped one hand to his side, slowly snaking it inwards, only stopping when he palmed the soft, yet firm warmth radiating from her belly. The distinctive tremor beneath his hand caused goosebumps to spring up across his arms, bringing a lopsided grin to his lips.

"I promise we'll be back soon _and_ in one piece," Rick replied, giving her belly a gentle squeeze. "Jesus said they got an amazin' haul. They don't have space to store Alexandria's cut, so we need to get it now. Won't take more 'an a day. You'll barely notice we're gone."

"That so?" she queried, trying to match the lightness in his tone. "Now, why would you think that?"

Leaning down to kiss her, he whispered, "don't know. Maybe you need to show me it ain't true," before his lips joined hers.

She smiled into his kiss, relishing the sweet softness of his lips, a hint of blueberries still on them from the surprise breakfast of pancakes with preserves he'd made especially for her and Judith. She leaned in as far as her belly would allow, not wanting to release him just yet. The imminence of her final trimester had brought on a surprisingly manic need to nest. Now that they were all under the same roof, a sense of tranquility had wrapped itself around their home and she didn't want to let it go.

She couldn't bear the thought of anything penetrating the haven they'd created. Recognizing her emotions were reaching the tipping point the longer she held onto him, she slowly, reluctantly, began pulling away. But he refused to surrender his hold. Instead, he brought his hands up to cup her face, as he bent down to give her one last lingering kiss.

"Jeez guys," Carl grumbled, interrupting the couple as he made his way out the front door and onto the porch with Judith in his arms. "We're only gonna to be gone a day. We're not going to war. Besides, do you _have_ to do this outside?"

Rick chuckled as he draped his arm around Michonne's shoulders, spinning them around to face Carl. The slight annoyance on his son's face generated a loud guffaw from Rick. Judith, never one to be left out of the fun, giggled as she reached out to her father for a cuddle.

"Ok smart guy," Michonne countered, pinning the teen-ager with a playful glare. "Just remember your main mission is to keep each other safe. That's all I care about."

"I know, I know," Carl conceded, hoisting Judith into Rick's awaiting arms.

Carl turned to Michonne, catching a glimpse of her unshed tears, glistening in the morning sun. He leaned in to give her a hug. Looking over her shoulder to his dad and sister, he realized again how lucky he was to have her in his life. This wonderful woman who had become a mother to him at a time when he was positive he no longer needed one. Who would be the _only_ mother Judith knew. Who had brought the brightness back into his father's eyes. He hated when she worried but was excited to go on this 'secret mission' with his dad, knowing how much such a gesture meant to his dad.

"Don't worry," Carl avowed. "We've got this."

"I know you do," she whispered as he leaned down to kiss her cheek and rub her belly for good luck.

"Ready dad?" he said, turning to find Rick bouncing a giddy Judith on his hip.

"Yeah," Rick replied, giving Judith one last kiss before handing her to Michonne. "Need to get goin'."

He gave Michonne one last kiss before following Carl down the stairs and out towards the moving truck parked in front of their home.

"I'll drive," Carl stated, reaching out to retrieve the keys from Rick's hands.

"You sure about that?" Rick smirked, turning back to look at Michonne and Judith, still standing on the porch watching them. "'Chonne's right there and if I recall correctly, y'all almost ended up in a ditch last time you drove. She won't like it."

" _She's_ the one that said I needed more practice," Carl insisted, jingling the keys in his hands as he rounded the truck to get to the driver's side.

Rick shrugged his shoulders, opened the passenger-side door, and hopped into the vehicle. Once seated, Carl started the truck as Rick looked back up towards the porch, catching a pensive smile on Michonne's face as she cradled Judith against her cheek. He and Carl waved, before pulling away from the curb and heading towards the gates. As they approached, Scott opened the gates, flagging them through. Carl navigated across the steel bridge covering the trench constructed to further protect Alexandria. Clearing the security apparatus, Carl steered the truck onto the road and proceeded towards their destination.

"You think she knows?" Carl asked, turning to glance at his father. "She seemed a _little_ suspicious this morning. Kept asking if I was 'sure' we really needed to go and 'why' Daryl couldn't just bring it."

"Nah, she doesn't know," Rick replied, leaning back into his seat and putting his boot-clad feet on the dashboard. "She's just worried about us and anxious about the baby. She'll wanna keep us close."

"Why is she worried about the baby?" Carl asked, more sharply than he realized. "Is there something going on you aren't telling me? Is she ok?!"

"Calm down Carl," Rick directed, reaching over to give a comfortingly squeeze Carl's shoulder. "She's _fine_. The baby's fine too. It's just somethin' women worry about when they get close to the end. Your mom was the same way with Judith. Really, it was the same in the old world too. Maybe you don't remember because the world had already gone to hell and you couldn't tell the difference. Michonne will be _fine_."

Carl nodded, visible relief washing over him. He'd been so happy the past few weeks. His family was together again and it was nice to see the fulfillment emanating from his dad, as well as Judith's glee about being able to follow Michonne around all day like her little shadow. The sense of family and belonging reminded him of how it used to be when he was really small. Being able to do the mundane things like go to school, do his chores, and sit down each evening to a meal. Together. He didn't realize how much he'd missed that sense of normalcy until he had it back. He never wanted to let it go again.

"You think you and Michonne will have another kid after this one?" he asked, startling his father out of his daydream.

"What?" Rick sputtered, unsure he had heard Carl correctly.

"I don't mean _now_ ," Carl asserted, grinning at the shock on his father's face. "I'm just thinking about Michonne saying we need to rebuild civilization. I'm guessing the only way to do that is more babies. I used to be scared because of… what happened to mom. But I know it makes sense, so I just thought… you know."

Rick sighed, rubbing his hands through his beard. He was content with the kids he had, and the one coming, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't not-so-secretly long for another one. He could admit it pained him to know if he had been who he _should_ have been to Michonne, maybe things would have been different. None of that mattered now. Now, they were together and he pledged to never let anything interfere with such a blessing.

"Haven't really talked 'bout it," Rick admitted, pausing as he swirled the idea around in his mind. "Besides, that would be entirely her decision."

"But, do _you_ want it?" Carl prodded, unwilling to let his father bypass the question.

"Yeah, I think I would," Rick sighed. Their family policy had become 'no more secrets,' so while he was uncomfortable having this conversion, he felt obligated to be truthful with Carl.

"Then she would too," Carl declared. "You guys are always in synch."

Rick turned to fully look at his son. It still amazed him how the scrawny little boy he found at the Atlanta camp became the young man sitting before him. Stray whiskers on his cheeks and upper lip, a deepening voice, a keen sense of what was right, and the ability to furiously protect those he loved. He smiled with pride, grateful for having played any part in the man Carl would become.

"Why'd you tell Michonne we were going to the Kingdom?" Carl asked, breaking the silence as he stared at the road ahead. "Don't you think she'd worry we'd run into Jessie there?"

"Nah, 'Chonne knows she's got nothin' to worry about," Rick replied, leaning back deeper into his seat. "Besides, it would have been fine. There's nothin' there with Jessie. Never was."

"I guess I ju– just… I don't know," Carl began, slowing the truck down slightly as he gathered his thoughts. "That _thing_ was just so weird. I know you were trying to help, but I hated Michonne being so upset. I hated her moving out and I wasn't very nice about it."

"Yeah, _that_ was clear," Rick softly chuckled, thinking back to the damage he had caused and the anger Carl had displayed at his actions. "I thought I was helpin', doin' right. Just ended up makin' a shit situation shittier."

"Language!" Carl scolded.

"Michonne's not here," Rick retorted, glancing at his son. "Just exercisin' my right to swear outside the presence of Mama Bear."

Carl laughed, speeding up as the brief tension in the cab of the truck dissipated.

"I've made a lotta mistakes, but that was probably the biggest," Rick confessed. "Wasted a lotta time on somethin' I knew wouldn't work and hurt someone I loved deeply. If I have to, I'll gladly spend the rest of my life makin' it right."

Rick looked on as Carl nodded and turned his attention back to the road. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, a small smile playing on his lips. It had been bumpy ride, but they had made it out of that dark tunnel and were finally basking in the sunshine, as a family. He would never let anything change that again.

* * *

 _As he sat on the steps to the porch, beneath the blistering sun, he wondered if it would be possible to come back from this. After all, the predicament he now found himself immersed in was of his own making. Since stepping through Alexandria's gates, he'd operated under an impenetrable fog. A murkiness that drove him towards actions that where incomprehensible, even to himself._

 _He thought of Carl, home for just a few weeks now, finally getting up on his feet and feeling more comfortable with the ramifications of his injury. He thought of all the late nights and early mornings he had been too tired or overwhelmed to even feed himself and how Michonne had stepped in and been there to provide the comfort Carl needed. He thought about finding her napping on the couch, Judith snuggled against her chest. Of how he stroked Michonne's cheek to wake her, before pulling Judith from her arms and walking upstairs to put her in her crib._

 _He thought about coming back down to talk to her, listening to her go on about how Carl had hit a key milestone in his recovery, all while he had been out helping repair the remaining damage to Alexandria. He looked into her eyes and saw the tiredness, but the clear glint of hope beaming through, just beyond the surface. They had been to hell and back, but they had made it. Carl was healing, Judith was safe, and it felt like maybe, just maybe they could now catch their breath._

 _Carl wasn't quite the same as before but was now meeting regularly with Denise to work on his motor skills and some of the anger and frustration resulting from his wound. He thought about Michonne spending more time out of the house now, helping them rebuild, helping Spencer make repairs to the Monroe house, working with Maggie on the new plans._

 _All of this floated through his thoughts as he took in the pleading hopelessness in Michonne eyes. He'd broken the patchwork puzzle that had been their family and couldn't figure out how to put it all back together. They stood in the foyer of their home, mere feet separating them, but miles apart. Hands on hips, he tucked his head into his chin, not wanting to look at her, but knowing he must. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet the disbelief in hers._

 _He was struck by how his careless behavior upon arrival in Alexandria had led to his foolish decision to invite Jessie further into his– their lives. He hadn't been thinking rationally about the repercussions. Every instinct in his body had screamed that he needed to 'solve' this woman's problems. He now knew he had only added to them, as well as his own._

 _"How do you expect me to stay?" she spat, making sure he felt the full force of her infuriation at his actions. "How did you think this could possibly work? For fuck's Rick, I killed her son!"_

 _He looked down at his feet, suddenly obsessed with the wear pattern that would soon create a hole at the top of his right boot. His harkened back to conversations he had had with Lori where she would accuse him of being obsessed with taking care of others and how that sometimes led to her feeling like he was neglecting his own family._

 _He knew why he had offered his help to Jessie. His madness had wrecked havoc on her life. The least he could do was try to fix it. In the moment, he hadn't worked through how Michonne and the rest of their family would take the news. He saw a problem that he felt only he could resolve, and so he tried. He'd been hasty, Jessie's urgency and tears leaving him too guilty to let her walk away without some sort of penitence from him._

 _"Michonne," Rick implored, trying to look past her ire and into the heart of the woman who had been by his side since practically the moment they'd met. "I fucked up. I didn't m– mean for any of this to happened. I killed her husband 'an made her son want to kill me. Ron's death, Carl's eye, Sam's hand, ALL of that is on me."_

 _Pointing to his chest, he took a deep breath, tying to quiet the thumping of his heart, now echoing in his ears. Jessie's losses had been his fault. If he hadn't been so reckless. If he had told Michonne about Carol's and his plan from the beginning. If he had been fully conscious of why he was intrigued by Jessie. All of this. But mostly, if he had put his faith and trust where it should have been, with Michonne, maybe all of this could have been avoided._

" _I did this. I'm just trying to help her get through this. I owe her at least that much."_

 _"But this? Moving her in with us? Jesus Christ Rick, get off the cross! You DON'T owe her that."_

 _"I fucked up Michonne. I'm just tryin' to fix it. I don't know how else to do that."_

" _You seem to forget that I was there too. I could have just disarmed Ron. If I think about it, maybe I had enough time. But I was angry. How dare he try to take what's mine away from me? Maybe my anger led me to take that boy's life."_

 _Shaking his head, Rick dragged his fingers through the sweat-drenched curls plastered to his forehead, as the stifling heat poured in from an open front window. As painful as it was, he steeled himself and held her gaze, withering in the hurt and dejection he found in her eyes._

 _"I'm done Rick," she quietly stated. "I can– I don't want to do this with you anymore. I want more out of this life. I guess I'm just now realizing you're not more."_

 _He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. What was she saying? Did she really believe that? He could feel the tears creeping up and his anxiety rising. He could feel her slipping away and he had nothing in his arsenal to make her stay._

 _She forced him to hold her gaze. She had crushed him. She could tell. But, her rage easily overcame the small pang hitting her heart. She wouldn't fully register what she had actually said until much later. She'd finally decided to let this… whatever 'this' was, go. The bond between them had begun to feel like an anchor around her neck. Maybe some time apart would give them new perspective and repair the acrimony._

 _Maybe Rick could figure it out, could fix this. But, he'd have to figure it out without her to lean on. She hoped he could, for his sake. Scanning his face, she looked on as tears sprang to his eyes, the realization that she would consider leaving their home brought him low. He couldn't let her go. He couldn't let her leave them… leave him._

 _"Please Michonne," he begged, closing the space between them to grip her hand. "I'll tell her she can't move in."_

 _She pulled her hand from his and said, "It's too late. Whatever you want with Jessie, here's your chance. You should take it."_

" _I don't want anything with Jessie! It has nothing to do with that. If that's what you're going to say to convince yourself to leave, then you do that."_

" _Don't put this shit on me. This is your doing!"_

" _How can you walk away? What about Carl? Judith? They need you!"_

 _He knew he had gone too far as soon as he noted her eyes turn from sadness to fury and finally, to contempt._ _She seethed, clenching and unclenching her hands as she moved closer to the front door, finally pressing her back against it and crossing her arms as she glared at him._

" _Fuck you Rick for even daring to use them to manipulate me!"_

" _I'm sorry. I didn't mean it…" he said, watching as she scowled at him. "I'm sorry."_

 _He didn't mind the arrows she had thrown. As painful as it was for him to admit it to himself, there was ample truth in all she had laid at his feet. He felt nothing but shame at his actions. His eyes quickly fell back to his boots._

 _Watching through the corner of his eye, he saw her reach down to grab the pack he had made sure to prepare and place next to the door in preparation for her run with Glenn the next day. She turned away from him, opened the front door, and walked out._

 _As the sound of her footsteps faded, he walked onto the porch, unable to do anything but watch her retreat. He slumped down onto the top step, head in hands. Whatever it took, whatever he needed to do, he would do it. Anything to bring her back. As his conviction soared, the doubts in the back of his mind began to bleed into his thoughts as well. What if he had been wrong? What if you don't get to come back?_

* * *

"No!" Judith screeched, her squeal ricocheting through the freshly painted room. "I baby. Wanna sleep my bed!"

Michonne, stunned by the outburst, didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Judith seemed to have inherited her brother's sixth sense about things and had been unusually clingy since they had decided to permanently merge their household. Judith had become obsessed with Michonne's growing belly, mesmerized by the alien movements she'd witnessed over the past few months. It was all Michonne could do to keep her away. But with Rick and Carl out, all she wanted was to hold Judith even closer.

She relished these quiet moments with her. Judith's vocabulary seemed to have grown exponentially each month and was a marvel to see how much more she was able to express herself. And, express herself she did. There didn't seem to be anything that passed Judith's field of vision in which she didn't feel obligated to comment, or to at least ask what it was. Her quest for knowledge was endearing, although, also sometimes exhausting.

The latter stages of her pregnancy had brought significant fatigue, but for some reason, today, she had all the energy in the world and just wanted to spend it with her sweet Judy-bear. Looking at the consternation on Judith's face, she bit her bottom lip to avoid giggling as she sought to identify what had bothered her sweet girl so much.

She thought about this exact same conversation so long ago, in that other lifetime. How her precious Andre had been just as adamant about staying in his crib. How she had begged and cajoled him into this new racecar-shaped bed. How she spent the first night crammed into the bed with him just to show him how comfortable it truly was. How he made her do that for an entire week, despite Mike's consternation. How her heart filled with joy the first time he told her he was a "big boy" and didn't need her to stay in _his_ bed with him because daddy was lonely. She smiled at that since it was very clear that Mike had given his son a talking-to.

The sharp pain of his loss had morphed into a dull ache, but it was still perceivable. She couldn't comprehend a time where it wouldn't be. Having the Grimes' in her life, as her family, had helped tamp down the bitter and enhance the sweet. Gazing upon a willful Judith, her heart raced in her chest. While scared of the proposition of keeping another child safe in this world, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"Now sweetie," she gently began, laboring to sit down on the carpeted floor next to a sulking Judith. "You know there's no yelling in this house, right? You can tell me what's the matter without shouting, I know you can."

Sullen, Judith looked up, managing a small nod, but still unwilling to release her little arms, now crossed against her chest.

"So, what's wrong sweetie?" Michonne asked.

"I wanna my bed," she pouted. "No big girl bed."

"Awwww, baby," Michonne began. "But where will the baby sleep?"

"Floor," Judith quickly replied, her head rocketing up as she heard Michonne cackle at her response.

It couldn't be helped. The grumpy look on Judith's otherwise lovely face was just too cute. Being the only baby in the community had its advantages. There was never a shortage of hugs and kisses and general adoration thrown Judith's way. This coupled with Carl's relentless teasing that Judith would no longer be Michonne's only baby, was no doubt causing Judith to feel some type of way.

"But Judy, the floor is cold and hard. It won't be too nice for the baby, now would it? Now, weren't you just telling me you wanted a bed like Carl's?"

Judith seemed to be pondering it. On one hand, she wanted her big girl bed, but wasn't quite ready to give up her crib. Especially for a new baby. Usurping her throne would not be an easy task. But she could tell Michonne wanted her to do something else. She didn't like it, but she was a good girl and liked to obey Michonne.

"Baby no sleep on floor," she quietly replied.

"That's my big girl," Michonne cheered, taking in a small smile from her Judy-bear. "Now that we're finished making it, how about we go downstairs and make dinner?"

Judith nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion, wrapping her arms around Michonne's neck as she carefully, and slowly, rose from the floor.

She took her favorite girl down the stairs and into the kitchen. She'd promised Judith they would have pancakes again for dinner. As she placed her in the high chair and began gathering the ingredients to make their simple meal, she couldn't help but smile. This was it. The world as she had re-imagined it. She would never have thought this was possible when they first entered those gates.

As the baby in her belly made its presence known, a twinge of regret came to her, thinking of the man missing, but not forgotten. She silently acknowledged his sacrifice and gave thanks to all that he had given her. She vowed to do him proud. The pace of this life still shocked her. Had he only been gone such a short time ago? Yet, her life had irreversibly changed. She was… happy. Blissfully so. Elated by the love that surrounded her. Pleased that she had been able to fulfill his dying wish. Grateful for the chance to live her life aloud.

* * *

 _Time seemed to carry a different type of weight and scale in this new world. Days more closely resembled weeks; weeks felt more like years. The pace and uncertainty of life made each moment more monumental than the previous, and required the continuous cherishing of the things, great and small, that composed a good life._

 _It had taken Michonne weeks to finally let go of some of the pain. To no longer feel a twinge of heartache each time he came into her line of vision. To be able to inhale and exhale when she saw her with Carl and Judith. Even when both immediately rushed over to her, it was agonizing. Not having them in her home after so much time spent together on the road was difficult._

 _When she saw him now, she felt a stitch of sadness, but no longer the gut wrenching pain that had been her existence in the aftermath. She smiled to herself and thought back to Deanna's parting words. Maybe the pain_ _had_ _become useful to her. She'd been able to walk over coals to stand on the other side. She kept the hope Deanna had in the viability of Alexandria at the forefront of her mind, using it as a beacon when the sheer weight of all they needed to do became too much._

 _What she wanted then was the same as what she wanted now. She wanted a life. She wanted love. All this came to mind as she kneeled on the ground in the woods a short distance from the gates of Alexandria. She had followed Spencer out there after she and Rosita observed him signaling to Abe, who'd been guarding the gates, to open them for him._

 _She had been the one on guard duty when Rosita came up to relieve her; Daryl had been late and she planned to stay on until he returned, but the sight of Spencer leaving Alexandria worried her, so she begged off staying with Rosita to follow him into the forested area just outside Alexandria._

 _She'd stayed behind him, watching as he slung the riffle over his shoulder and continued on his path deeper into the woods. She was used to tracking and was able to keep herself quiet and hidden when needed. She looked on as he scanned the area, looking for what, she wasn't sure. She'd been spending quite a bit of time with Spencer, helping him sort out the house, and setting up space for it to become the primary screening area for new residents._

 _They often talked late into the night, waking each other up after both fell asleep on the couch. It was a nice, easy friendship, brought on by circumstance, but sustained by genuine fondness. There was something about his simpler approach to life that made him easy to lean on when she needed support. No hidden agenda, just someone who she knew liked her quite a bit but wasn't pushing for anything more than to simply stay in her presence._

 _She knew he was trying. He came to all the community meetings. He attended the shooting and hand-combat courses being run by Rick and team. He'd gotten pretty good with both a gun and knife fighting during close-quarters exercises. She'd been proud of his efforts. She knew he was tired, lonely in fact. She'd been staying with Glenn and Maggie since leaving but had been sharing most of her watches with Spencer over the past few weeks, uncovering what made this young man tick._

 _When she heard rustling just to the left of them, she made her presence known, causing Spencer to whip around towards her, gun raised and ready to fire. Quickly noticing her, he turned back to what had now caught both of her attention: the shocking reanimated figure of Deanna staggering towards them. Her heart fell as realization flooded her senses._

 _Michonne looked on as Spencer took his knife out of its sheath and moved towards his mother. She could hear him sob as Deanna drew closer. Worried that he might not be able to do what was necessary, she pulled her katana from its sheath and moved nearer to mother and son. Seconds from walker Deanna reaching Spencer, he swiftly pierced her skull with his knife._

 _Michonne looked on as Deanna quieted and fell to the ground. Spencer stood above her for a few moments, taking in the stillness of his mother's body at his feet, his body shaking as he wept. He felt Michonne at his side before he could actually see her. There was comfort in her presence. She'd been the one keeping him afloat all these weeks, but he didn't tell her how he had spotted his mother during a run to dump bodies and had been going out daily to find her and end her misery._

 _Michonne stayed by his side as he pulled a retractable shovel from his backpack and began digging a burial plot for his mother. He'd thought about bringing her back to Alexandria; burying her with the others. But, she'd always loved this patch of nature so close to their community. It felt apt to bury her outside the walls where she could, perhaps, guard those who would dare try to breach Alexandria again._

 _Michonne stayed to help carve a marker to denote Deanna's final resting place. She stayed when Spencer refused to leave, telling her there was nothing left for him in Alexandria and maybe it would be best if he just moved on. She was there to let him know that he had something back in Alexandria. That he still had family and she had no intention of letting him do this on his one. So, when he dropped to his knees, and eventually sat down under a tree a short distance from Deanna's grave, Michonne walked over and sat next to him._

 _The remained there, inches apart, cloaked in a calming silence as they took in their surroundings. It was quiet, still. The only sounds reaching their ears intermittent bird calls in the distance. After several minutes of quietness, Spencer, not surprisingly, was the one to break it._

" _In my mom's letter," he began, his voice so low that she leaned closer to him to pick up what he was saying. "She told me that I could learn a lot from you. Said that when I was ready, I should seek you out. I got it. I knew what she was trying to do. She wanted me to stay. To stay and fight. Fight for a life. Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it."_

" _How can you say that? It's hasn't even been two months since… since all of it happened. Look at all the process we've made. Look at what you've accomplished."_

" _What's that?" he countered. "I haven't done anything everyone else isn't doing. I just wanted to prove to her and to myself that I was capable of at least trying."_

" _Don't you see she was right about you?"_

" _Well, she was a good judge of character," he said, chuckling quietly as his eyes filled with tears. "Told me when the time comes, I'd know the right path to take. I don't know why she said it. I don't know my way, not in this world. I know no one could have imagined the world turning to shit, but it's hard going it along. I always figured we'd survive or die, but together. I never could have dreamt this turning out like this."_

 _His voice cracked as he continued, "I do want to become the man she hoped I'd be. It's just… much harder to do without family."_

 _She reached out to grasp his hand, their fingers intertwining as he looked down, then up at her equally tears-filled eyes._

" _Well, I know she was right about you," she softly said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm out here, in the blazing sun, helping you lay her to rest. How could you say you don't have family? I'm here. We're all here for you. No one can make it alone any more. Trust me, I tried. We'll make it, but it has to be together. That's the only way it works._

 _He held her gaze, amazed by the faith she seemed to have in him, even when he couldn't muster the same sentiments about himself. God, she was amazing. She'd already taught him so much._

 _As she gazed into his eyes, tears pooling in the corners, she saw relief, hope, and maybe something else. His hardened hands continued clinging to her warm ones as he slowly, softly, pulled her towards him. She drifted towards him willingly. His left hand moved to caress her cheek, tickling her chin and causing her to giggle through her tears. The sound was music to his ears and caused a smile to form in the midst of his tears._

 _Slowly, their lips touched. Softly, tentatively. He held his breath, waiting for her to break it off. But she didn't. He slowly relaxed and pulled her closer to him as her warm soft lips soothed his soul. He pulled back to gaze at her, intoxicated by her very being. He would do anything for this woman._

 _Michonne looked back at him. It had been a long time since she'd had this feeling. This feeling of being the sole object of someone's adoration. The sense that her very presence was a salve for another's healing. The recognition of someone willing to do anything to ensure her happiness. She briefly thought of what could have been but pushed it into the darker alcoves of her consciousness. She wasn't sure where this would lead, but she wanted to see._

 _Whatever lay on the road ahead, she wouldn't squander any more moments. She would revel in each as it came. She would savor the sweet and spit out the bitter. She would seek her own joy, her own passion. She would let her heart lead her, not just her head. She would let herself be open to the possibilities._

* * *

"What is all this?" Michonne asked, balancing Judith on her hip as she opened the front door and walked into the dining room. "I wasn't expecting you back until later this evening. What have you two been up to?"

She had been out most of the day helping inventory the vegetable seeds in the pantry, picking out which should be planted in the new plot they had tilled. Her little shadow had _insisted_ on joining, happily spending most of the day bringing small shipping boxes with seeds back and forth to Michonne.

Michonne furrowed her eyebrows as she looked over at Carl, busily setting the table for dinner, and Rick, back to her in front of the stove. Delicious whiffs of whatever he had cooking made her mouth water. He'd gotten to be a _much_ better cook than the man she first encountered at the prison. Carl stayed silent, a small smile in place, as Rick turned to face Michonne.

"Nothin' much," he joked, turning back to stir whatever was cooking on the stove. "Just thought we'd have a nice dinner tonight. Daryl finally got around to butcherin' one of the bulls. We're gonna smoke most of it, but I figured we haven't had a roast in a long, long time. Seemed like the perfect time for one."

"I won't argue with that logic," Michonne sighed contently, walking over to place Judith in her high chair. "It smells _amazing_ , doesn't it sweetie?"

Judith nodded vigorously, clapping her hands in excitement as Rick and Michonne laughed. Their girl _did_ love her food.

"I help?" Judith queried, looking back and forth from Michonne to Rick.

"'Course darlin'" Rick replied, taking a small bowl of peas he'd already prepared in anticipation of Judith's request, and placing it on her high chair's tray.

As expected, the first thing Judith did was pick one up and promptly shove it into her mouth. She hummed loudly as she chewed, keeping her eyes on Michonne as she leaned on the counter and beamed at her sweetpea.

"Pea you!" Judith yelled, holding out a piece for Michonne. "Daddy and Cawl too!"

Michonne leaned over and accepted the gift, which Judith plopped on her tongue, before giggling at Michonne's dramatized ecstatic response. Rick and Carl got in line to receive Judith's gifts. After a few rounds, Judith most have noticed the depletion of her stash and went back to simply feeding herself.

Michonne chuckled and turned back to Rick.

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Nah, Carl and me got it. Just fixin' the sides here. The farm crew pulled up the first batch of potatoes and peas, so figured we'd go all out tonight. Looks real good right?"

"All this time, and the most important thing is _still_ food. I guess that'll never change."

"I reckon it won't, but it's nice to know we finally have enough, even some to spare. We're blessed."

She nodded, a grin on her face, "we certainly are."

She walked over to the stove to check on the roast Rick had taken out to rest. Uncovering it, the rich aroma wafted through the room, awaking her appetite, and causing her stomach to growl.

"Hmmmm. It looks wonderful Rick."

"Hey Michonne," Carl called out, sitting at the table, awaiting the meal when he _could_ have been helping. "Didn't you say you were a vegetarian before? What gives?"

"What gives is beggars can't be choosers," Michonne countered, picking up a pea from Judith's bowl and tossing it at his head.

Ducking expertly, Carl laughed, "I guess it wouldn't make any sense these days."

"Probably not, but let's all wish for a time when we have the luxury of such a thing. Veganism should be the goal in this world."

"Amen," Rick interjected, bringing the roast and mashed potatoes over to the table. "Wait a minute, what? Vegan? I take that back. Now let's eat."

Laughing, Michonne grabbed the peas from the stovetop and brought them over to the table, while Rick lifted Judith, high chair and all, and set her down at the table. Even though they had 6 chairs and could have spread out a bit, they'd grown accustomed to doing everything within reach of each other. So, they had fallen into a rhythm where Rick sat at the head with Carl to his left, Michonne to his right, and Judith's high chair taking the corner between Rick and Michonne.

Michonne took Judith's plastic plate and began chopping up the meat into bite-sized pieces for the little girl. She had to work quickly as Judith grew antsy when the prospect of food was right in front of her, but she wasn't able to partake of it. Rick filled each of their plates, while Michonne finished with Judith's and placed it back in front of the impatient girl.

"I'll start tonight," Carl said, taking a sip from his lemonade before briefly looking back down to his plate, then back up the Rick and Michonne. "I'm thankful that we're all here, safe and together."

Carl cleared his throat. He was grateful that they had weathered all the things that had happened before and had been able to all, as a family, safely emerge on the other side. He hadn't expected to suddenly feel overwhelmed, but he had. A year ago, he couldn't have imagined they'd be here, let alone all together. With the threat of Negan beating at their gates, and so much loss already behind them, he figured they wouldn't all have survived. But, they did. And not just survived, they were thriving. They had Michonne back in their lives, and he had Enid. He thought back to Michonne telling him how proud of him his mom wouldn't have been and he realized she had been right.

Nodding, Rick reached out to clasp Carl's trembling hand as he began, "I'm thankful for every single person at this table. You're my life and I would do anythin' to make sure you're safe. Safe and happy. I'll _never_ let you go."

Turning to look at her, he continued "I'm thankful for you Michonne. I'm thankful to have a home with you, and our children."

"What about you Judy-bear?" Michonne cooed, already misting from Carl and Rick's comments. "What are you thankful for?"

"Food!" Judith yelled, mashed potatoes and peas spilling from her mouth.

"We're gonna have to work on her table manners," Michonne whispered, catching Rick's eye.

"It's the new world, table manners don't count," Carl stated.

"In _any_ world, table manners count, young man," Michonne retorted, pinning him with a teasing glare.

"Yes, ma'am," Carl said, laughing as Judith, mouth agape, continued to giggle.

"Well, I guess it's my turn," she began. "Let's see… I'm thankful for finding each one of you at the end of the world, and I'll never let you go either."

Looking around the table, Michonne marveled at the gifts the fates had chosen to bestow. She'd never take any of it for granted. As the dinner began to wind down, Carl, surprisingly, volunteered to take an already dozing Judith, sleepy from her impressive intake of meat and potatoes, upstairs for a bath, story, and bedtime. Ordinarily, Judith would have protested, at least wanting Michonne for the story, but Michonne promised to come by for kisses before she fell asleep, which appeased the tired girl.

...

Michonne looked on as Rick cleared the table. Storying the leftovers in the refrigerator, while soaking the plates and pans in the sink. Once done, he came back to the table to sit and hold her hand.

"Thank you, Rick," she beamed at him. "This was special."

"Well, I 'spose that's on you," he said, grinning at her. "You always make _everythin'_ feel special. Figured it's the least I could do. 'Sides, gotta feed that baby… and Judith."

"They're both insatiable," she chuckled.

He held her gaze, smiling at the blissful aura that seemed to have taken permanent residence around them and their home. There was no chance that trouble wouldn't eventually come their way again, but he'd never felt as confident as he did now that together, they could take on anything.

"C'mon, I've got a surprise for you," he said, raising up from his seat and pulling her up with him.

"Careful now Mr. Grimes," she laughed, getting her bearings as her center of gravity shifted. "I'm not as nimble as I once was."

"I've no doubt you can handle yourself, but don't worry, I gotcha."

He pulled her towards himself, wrapping an arm around her waist as he guided her up the stairs. The walked past Judith's new room, directly across the hall from Carl's, proceeding to the small office space across from the master at the end of the hall. They had been debating whether or not to use that as the nursery or keep Judith's crib in her room and double her up with the baby.

"Close your eyes," he asked, waiting until he had done so.

He opened the door, flicking on the light, as he gently guided her to the center of the room. He looked around, proud of all the work he and Carl and done to get the room ready.

"Alright now, open your eyes."

She opened them, blinking several times to adjust to the artificial light casting shadows across the room. Slowly, she began to take all of it in. First, she noticed the dove gray walls, accentuated with pastel yellow stripes running vertically on an accent wall. Judith's crib, now painted white, was pushed against the accent wall. The matching white changing table and dressing, beautiful and perfect. Then she saw it. The stenciled name above the crib.

"How did…," she whispered, tears not bothering to pause on their journey down her cheeks. "How did you know about the name?"

"From the note in that poetry book you show'd," he confessed. I wasn't bein' nosy, I swear. I just noticed the name Spencer had circled at the top of the page. No more secrets: we did go to the Kingdom, but to pick all'a this up. Daryl 'an I found most of the furniture during our last run and stashed it there."

She looked at him, amazed that he had picked up the small detail of a she and Spencer had written and folded into a book with a boy's name and a girl's. Rick never missed her cues. Never let her close her eyes without telling her how much she meant to him. Always made sure she felt his love. After all they'd been through, he made sure she knew he'd forever be her home.

"I can't believe you and Carl got all of this done in one day," she smiled, marveling at the beautiful job they'd done.

"I'd do anythin' for you, you know that," he replied, pulling her towards him. "And so would Carl. Most of the design was on him anyway. You know a can't match colors to save my life."

He looked at her, her broad smile beaming back at him. He was so proud to have gotten _this_ right. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, his heart delighted at the prospect of this life, their life together. He couldn't imagine doing this without her. And if he was lucky, he never would.

 **A/N:** We're making our way to the end of this story. I've got 2 chapters (maybe 3…) left + an epilogue. As always, thank you for reading!


	10. The Road to Forever

"C'mon Sweetheart," Rick coaxed, lightly placing his hands back onto her swollen belly. "Lay back 'an relax. You have my word, I'll be gentle. Hell, _I'm_ the one who oughta be cryin'. It's startin' to feel like you don't trust me at all. You do, right?"

"Oh my God!" Michonne squealed, prone on their bed as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and trickled down into her ears. "You gotta stop! I can't do this. I can't Rick. You're killing me!"

Rick, straddling Michonne's thighs, applied light pressure on either side of her in an attempt to calm and refocus her attention towards himself and away from the taut skin tormenting her hyper-sensitive belly. He glanced up at her face, just in time to see her eyes snap shut and her head fall back onto the many fluffy pillows propping her up against the headboard. Despite his hands simply hovering over her and _not_ yet making contact, he could feel small anticipatory shivers emanating from her as his eyes traveled down her body.

She had on her powder blue robe, open and crumpled on either side of her; her protruding tummy having rendered its cloth belt useless. Rick's eyes slowly continued their downward trajectory. He stopped to marvel her bare breasts, now enticingly engorged and prepared to nourish their baby girl. His eyes trailed down the dark line running through the center of her belly and disappearing into the lilac-colored lace panties _barely_ peeking out from under her extended mid-section.

The glimpse of her pretty panties, certainly not a necessity in this world, but a sexy bonus which never failed to rev his arousal and bring a bright smile to his face. It no longer surprised him how, despite being in the final stages of pregnancy, she still found pleasure in these little details from a simpler time. As she had explained to him, they made her feel _good_ and were a small reminder of the things she'd been afforded in her previous life. A minor token from the world before, and a comfort to her psyche that a bit of frivolity was still possible even now. Rick was more than happy to be the primary beneficiary of a comforted Michonne.

Michonne gasped through gritted teeth, twisting her head side to side in a futile attempt to escape Rick's prickly clutches. Her body was tinderbox; one strike from a match liable to send her up in flames. What had started off as a kindhearted offer to salve the perpetually itchy skin across her rapidly growing stomach, had quickly devolved into a comedy of errors, leaving Michonne laughing hysterically, while Rick, nearing exhaustion, pondered how best to take back control of what was to be a full day of his 'pampering' Michonne.

Carl had gone to the Hilltop for training on how to manufacture weapons from scrap metal, a necessary vocation in this new world and something he'd shown a keen interest in learning. He'd _graciously_ offered to take Judith with him to give Rick and Michonne some time alone. In reality, both Rick and Michonne knew he had taken Judith just so Herschie would have a playmate and he could spend more time with Enid. Neither was fooled by Carl's generous offer, but with both kids out of the house, Rick had secretly vowed to make the day all about her. This no easy feat for such a self-sufficient woman, but he'd break his back trying.

"You need to stop!" she pleaded, taking in large gulps of air as she tried to compose herself. "It tickles!"

"Sweetheart, if you don't stay still, it'll only get worse," he pleaded, gradually reaching back down towards her belly. "Now hush woman 'fore you wake the dead! I swear, I've _watched_ you do this a million times and don't ever recall so much fussin'."

"You can't _tickle_ yourself Rick," Michonne wheezed, trying to control the animated giggles rippling through her body, causing her to jerk up from the pillows. "Ok, ok, just gimme another minute… I need a minute Rick! Just don't go too far down the sides. Please!"

Breathing slowly through her nose, she continued, "Ok, I thin– think I'll be ok. I can do this."

"You're the one that can't reach anythin'," he teased, his hands still suspended over her as he watched her squirm beneath him. "Just tryin'a help you out."

She looked at him, tears of laughter partially obscuring his lop-sided grin. Her giggles subsided as he lifted himself off her thighs and calmly guided her torso back onto the bed. He peered down at her now closed eyelids, before picking up the large vitamin E capsule from their nightstand and carefully piercing it with a thumb tack. He squeezed the oily contents into the palms of his hands, before leaning over to discard the empty casing and thumb tack back onto the nightstand. Returning to her, he vigorously rubbed the balm in his hands, wanting to warm it up before spreading it across Michonne's bare belly.

Rick relished this new morning ritual. Helping Michonne in the shower, patting her dry, then laying her back onto their bed to apply whatever concoction she'd come up with over her already improbably silky-smooth skin. What he hadn't anticipated was her steadily increasing sensitivity to his touch. What had begun as some of the best foreplay of his life had recently become a farcical quest to hold his love still enough to ease her tender skin of some of its discomfort.

Opening her eyes to gaze up at him, Michonne began snickering again, the prospect of his fingers caressing her belly already provoking the cringe-inducing feeling she knew would soon overwhelm her senses. She took a long, cleansing breath and centered herself around the deep oceanic pools staring back at her. Gently, his broad hands cupped her stomach, careful to maneuver around her belly button, a particularly sensitive area now jutting out from her once flat stomach. She eased into his touch, sighing deeply, as he rubbed the softest of circles into her skin. She smiled, dropping her head back onto the pillows and once again closing her eyes.

"Rick," Michonne murmured, his feather-like massage already floating her towards sleep. "Don't we have to get up and, you know, do stuff?"

"Shhh," he hushed, willing her to stay in the moment. "Kids're gone, so I'm officially declaring today 'Take Care of Mama Day.'

"So that's been declared huh?" she tittered, using all her energy to keep her hands at her sides as Rick's hands made their way up from her belly.

"Yup," he replied, working the oily substance upwards to her breasts, showing careful consideration for her sensitive mounds. "All you gotta do is sit back and take it easy. I got this."

The intoxicating sound of Michonne purring her contentment caused the pace of his massage to ebb. Noting he had slowed down but his hands remained on her breasts, she opened her eyes to find him with _that_ smile on his lips. Not breaking eye contact, he palmed her breasts, feeling her nipples hardened into distended pebbles beneath his fingertips. He pulled himself up her body and leaned in for a searing just-getting-started kiss.

She lifted her head to meet him halfway, her body already responsive to his touch. Gradually, his lips left hers, making their way back down her body. Arriving at his first stop, his tongue darted out and circled her nipple. She startled, her hyper-sensitivity causing pinprick explosions across her skin. Her hands quickly found themselves at the back of his head. As she used her fingertips to comb through his curls, his tongue continued their exploration.

He drew her nipple fully into his mouth, lapping at the delicacy while fondling the other breast in his hand. Once he had accomplished the rigid peak he desired, he moved his lips to the other, leaving a wet trail in his wake. Giving both equal attention, his proceeded down her body, dropping sweet kisses across the expanse of her belly, taking a moment to say a silent prayer for their baby's safe delivery.

As he felt her body involuntarily pitch forward, he rose to his knees, taking her in, while hooking a finger on either side of her panties. He drew them down her legs and off, discarding them onto the floor next to their bed. Looking at her, he lowered his head to leave a final kiss just below her belly button. He used his tongue to trek down the same dark line running below her belly button, and into the small tuft of hair crowning her glory. He traversed her sweet bud, his tongue moving down to her already drenched slit. Gripping her thighs in each hand, he pushed them up, spreading her wide for his enjoyment. He leaned in, flattening his tongue for a long, slow lick upwards, landing back at her bud. She writhed on the bed, his skillful tongue seemingly sending pulses to every nerve center in her body.

She wondered at how much more responsive she'd become over the past few weeks. Gleefully, the pregnancy hormones continuously coursing through her body kept her perpetually on the edge of that cliff whenever he was within her sights. He settled onto his elbows, resting them on the bed as he dove in and began suckling her bud in earnest. The sensation soon proved to be too much as she tried to squirm away from his tongue. He reached up to place his forearm across the crease just below her belly and firmly held her in place, while increasing the speed and pressure of his mouth against her bare flesh.

He could no longer look up to watch her unravel as he used to before her belly obscured his sightline to her beautiful face. But he could feel each and every reaction to his ministrations. He felt her legs tremble as her panicked moans filled the air, music to his ears as he dipped a solitary finger between her folds. Then, the crescendo. She rose nearly upright from the bed, heart racing, as the pool of pleasure emanating from her core, slowly, achingly, spread to her extremities. His mouth stayed in place, no longer moving, but content to feel her as ecstasy frantically took her breath.

He gave her a moment to recuperate, pausing as her fingers ran through his hair, both quietening and exciting him. He landed one last kiss on her mound, before working his way up her body, dropping more kisses as he went. The last landed on her lips, where she quickly drew his tongue into her mouth, getting a hint of the lingering taste of herself on his lips. He reached over, placing his hand on the back of her neck and drawing her towards him, deepening their kiss.

He turned to his side, dragging her towards him. They retreated into each other's arms as best they could, her just-over 8-month belly interfering with their physical closeness, but not their intimacy. His lips left hers, taking a moment to look into her eyes, gazing into the only place he could conceive of ever calling home again.

Using his thumb, he traced a pattern from the apple of her cheek, down to the first soft curve of her luscious lips. His hand moved up, finding itself atop the towel covering her freshly washed locs. He released the damp tresses from the towel wrapped around her head, the smell of lavender and other floral notes he couldn't quite make out wafted through the air, further tantalizing his senses.

Watching her fully revealed before him, he was awed by the privilege of witnessing her in all her splendor. Each time they did this dance, something new was revealed, as was the persistent feeling that his entire life had been preparation for him to experience moments like these with this woman.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, the very utterance of the phase causing his voice to waver. "I don't take for granted how lucky I am to have you."

"Me too," she murmured, matching his tone. "You _know_ how much I love you."

"I love you more," he said, stealing another kiss.

"Impossible," she said, her lips reclaiming his.

His hands found their way down her arms and onto the bend of her hips. He admired how they subtly flared out, dipping into her belly in front, and disappearing over the edge onto her backside. He reached around her and gave it a squeeze, eliciting a moan that seemed to echo in his mouth. He cupped her cheek, dipping his fingers into the crevice, sticky from the essence she exuded during their earlier activities. He pulled her as close to him as he possibly could; he needed more.

She slowly turned away from him, her bottom now resting against his rigid length. He helped her lift her leg, placing it backwards on top of his thigh. He wrapped his arms around her belly and slowly entered her from behind, pausing as she gasped and a shudder ran through her lower body. Impatiently, she pushed back, sinking onto him until he was fully sheathed inside her. She stilled for a moment, catching her breath as the ecstasy of their coupling seized her very being.

Slowly, she began to rock back on his length. Back and forth, a steady rhythm sung in a tune made just for him. His groans filled the room as the white heat that encapsulated his length threatened to scorch him from the inside out. His hand moved from her belly downwards, eventually finding their way to her slick bud. He rubbed slow circles around it, feeling her tense, then relax into his touch. He felt the telltale clench of his length inside her, knowing she was nearing her release. His length stroked in tandem to his fingers, drawing her closer and closer to the edge.

One last lingering stroke was all it took. She was undone, crashing against him with a satiated sigh as he continued to pummel her from the back. His pace quickened, chasing his own blissful release as he pumped into her. Reaching across her to push in even deeper, he let go. A loud grunt escaping his lips as his length pulsed into her, bit by bit, issuing all he had into her tight, wet heat.

They laid in quiet contentment, his strong arms wrapped around her. The spell was eventually broken with her words,

"Fuck!" she grumbled, looking up at his smiling face. "How am I supposed to be productive after that?"

He laughed, kissing her shoulder as he flipped her onto her back and propped himself onto his elbows to get a better look at her.

"Well, technically, this is all your fault," he stated, rubbing his hand over her still glossy belly.

"How so?"

" _You_ insisted I rub that stuff on your belly. You know I can't resist when I see you like this. All fresh and open in front of me. It's like taking a starvin' man to a buffet and tellin' 'im to only eat the salad."

"Oh, really now? _I've_ been starving you?"

"Well, you know I'll always be hungry when you're around, so…" he said, playfully shrugging his shoulders.

"Good to know," she smirked, dropping her forehead to his.

He pulled back to gaze at her before leaning in for one last kiss.

"You feelin' alright?" he queried, turning her onto her side and pulling her back against his chest, hoping to use all the goodness flowing out of her to quiet his suddenly anxious heart. "We're gettin' awfully close to finally meetin' her. I know we've got the best support, at least in _this_ world, but still… I can't help but worry a bit."

"We're gonna be fine," Michonne said, snuggling deeper into the cozy warmth of his embrace. "I feel it in my bones. This is meant to be, so _nothing's_ gonna stop it from happening Rick. Dr. Soroyan's here, Rosita's here too. It'll be all good."

"You and the kids are my world," he began, his voice shaking slightly as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Wouldn't want to be here without any of you. Couldn't."

"Well, then it's lucky for you that everything is going to be fine."

He nodded, not wanting to concede, but knowing she was practical and the odds seemed to be in their favor as of late. Still, happiness in this world tended to come with caveats. Things could change an instance, so these small, special moments were fraught with higher meaning.

"Hey," she said, reaching back to playfully tug at his curls and guide his attention to another topic. "Aaron said Jesus is finally ready to leave the Hilltop and move in with him here. It'll be nice to have him close."

"I'm just glad we're not gonna lose Aaron," Rick began, absentmindedly stroking her arm with his thumb. "that would'a been a big blow. Plus, who'd we have to keep Daryl from goin' full feral when he's out there?"

"Can't argue with that," she agreed, sighing as his warmth enveloped her. "It'll be good having him here full time. I've missed him."

"Maggie's probably gonna be sore 'bout losin' him," he murmured, landing another kiss on her top of her head. "But I think it'll work out nicely for us. He'll be a good additional to the council, bein' a pretty good judge of character an' all."

"Do you know how much I love hearing you say that after all this time?" she laughed, pulling Rick's arms more tightly around her shoulders. "I guess first impressions aren't everything."

"Yeah, well, he had it comin'," he laughed, thinking back on his less-than auspicious initial meeting with Jesus and how it set the course for their eventual reclamation of civilization.

"What else you got planned for me today Rick?" Michonne queried, not minding one bit if they spent the entirety of the day wrapped around each other in bed.

"Let's start out with a little nap," Rick mumbled, wrapping his arms around her belly and yawning loudly as he closed his eyes. "You'll need to rest 'cause I'm not quite done takin' care of you yet."

* * *

" _Said you had somethin' to say to me?" Rick demanded, his furious stare pinning the cagey intruder to his seat at the Monroe's dining table. "So, c'mon out with it. Speak."_

 _Minutes earlier, Maggie and Glenn's frantic pounding on his front door had roused Rick from a fitful sleep on his living room couch. Yanking open the door onto their anxious faces, he knew instantly that whatever was wrong, it had something to do with the curious stranger he and Daryl had brought home from what proved to be both an exhausting and ultimately fruitless run. Maybe Daryl had been right that nothing good could possibly come from someone who called themselves 'Jesus.'_

 _Jesus had managed to not only cost them a bounty of sorely needed supplies, but also the one thing Rick had wanted to bring back to Alexandria especially for Michonne. He'd been livid at the time but couldn't bring himself to leave the unconscious man in the middle of a field while walkers meandered about. Daryl had reluctantly agreed to bring the evasive man back with them, put off by his wiliness._

 _After securing Jesus in Alexandria's jail, Rick had gone home to rest, while Daryl, still wired from their day, had gone to join Abe on perimeter watch. Rick spent the rest of the evening sleeping in spurts, spending most of his couch time puzzling over how he'd be able to retrieve the box of spearmint and baking soda toothpaste he knew Michonne would have loved._

 _After Glenn hurriedly explained how he and Maggie had seen a dark figure scale the side of the Monroe home and crawl into an open second floor window, the three rushed towards the home. Panicked because Carl and Judith were spending the night with Michonne, Rick quickly used a walkie-talkie to alert Abe and Daryl to meet them at the Monroe's._

 _Bursting through the front door and racing into the foyer, the three found Carl at the base of the stairs with a gun trained on a man kneeling at his feet. Rick glanced up the staircase just in time to catch a disheveled Spencer and Michonne sprinting down the stairs towards them. His eyes briefly connected with hers before both turned their attentions in opposite directions, trying to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. As he looked down at his boot-covered feet, a sharp intake of breath caused a stab of pain to run right through his heart. Futilely, he willed himself to focus on the task at hand: finding out how the man he and Daryl had locked into a jail cell less than an hour prior had managed to escape and find his way to the three people dearest to him._

 _After Daryl and a burly red-haired man joined the impromptu meeting, Rick directed Jesus to a seat at the table. Jesus kept Rick in his peripheral view while his eyes darted across the room, taking in the matching sneers reflected back at him from those he could only assume were responsible for policing this community. Rick had roughly sat him down at the head of the table, taking an interrogation stance that made him wonder if the man had somehow been in law enforcement. If so, he'd have to quickly deduce whether he was a good cop or a bad one._

 _The faces surrounding him all looked pretty pissed at his presence, which hadn't been his intention. His eyes landed back on Rick, giving the clenched-jaw man a final once-over. Rick seemed dangerous, but the way he kept looking over at the woman seated to Jesus' right piqued Jesus' interest. Somehow, each look in her direction seemed to cause the man's jaw to relax just a bit. Not sure what to make if that, he filed it away for later examination._

 _Jesus shifted in his seat, taking in the motley group surrounding him. There was the young man, a kid really, seated behind the woman Rick kept looking towards. He was surprised by how quickly the kid had advanced on him. It was rare for him to meet someone who would be able to move quickly and quietly enough to get a gun to his head. He was impressed by what appeared to be the young man's stealth nature. Based on Rick's protective posture upon entering the home, and how the woman had purposefully partially blocked Jesus' view of the young man, him concluded this had to be the man's son._

 _The striking woman guarding the son intrigued him. Based on the silent interactions of the father, son, and the woman, it was clear she meant something to them. Jesus was curious to know exactly what it might be. Especially since it was clear she was with the tall, dark-haired man standing protectively behind her chair. Jesus looked on with amusement as Rick visibly recoiled and sneer when the man reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. Something was definitely going on between Rick and the woman._

 _His eyes bounced around the tastefully decorated room, taking in the suburban splendor that inexplicably seemed to coexist with the end of the world. Most of the faces peering back at him didn't quite seem to fit the peaceful setting in which he'd found himself. They seemed hardened and wary, perhaps weary, and certainly a bit dangerous. He'd have to be careful._

 _He turned back to Rick, studying him closely as he watched the agitated man grit his teeth, the motion causing the lower part of his face to twitch. He was incensed, that was obvious._

" _I'm part of a community not too far from here," he began, looking at the grime faces fanned out across the table. "We're just like you… well, not exactly. I'm a scout, so part of my job is to look for other people to trade with, I–"_

" _Nah, hold up," the surly man – Daryl, he'd since discerned – who had helped Rick bring him back to their community. "You ain't tellin' us nothin' 'til you tell us how you got out."_

" _Look, I'm sorry for finding a way out, but what would you have done if you were me?" Jesus implored, his eyes studying the faces surrounding him. "I didn't know if I was safe. I just wanted to check things out. I wasn't going to hurt anyone. That's not me."_

 _In reality, escaping hadn't been a big deal at all. He was used to getting out of sticky situations. His bound hands had been no different. He knew the gruff one would just have soon left him unconscious in the field for walkers to find, but he could tell Rick was different. Suspicious, yet a glimmer of hopefulness simmering just below the surface. He'd regained consciousness in the back of the car but waited patiently to see if he could uncover enough information to ensure his safety once they reached their destination._

 _Sighing as he shrugged his shoulders, he began anew, "you didn't tie me up very tight. Knots loosen, locks are bypassed, guards fall asleep, what have you. I was looking for Rick's house, but saw a light on in this one, so I thought I'd check it out. I wasn't expecting a kid to pull on gun on me, that's for sure."_

" _I'm not a kid," Carl interjected, agitatedly shifting in his seat. "I would've ki–"_

" _Easy Carl," Rick admonished, quickly silencing his son. "Go on. How'd you get in?"_

" _Before running into him," Jesus continued, nodding towards Carl, then moving his eyes towards Michonne. Gesturing towards Michonne and Spencer, he continued, "I peeked in on these two… um, sleeping."_

 _Michonne dropped her eyes to the table and gave a small smile while shaking her head. The relationship with Spencer had certainly been unexpected. Not that they were hiding, but no one really knew for sure. That is, except for Carl… and maybe Rick, but she wasn't certain Carl had shared this with him. Like Andre, it wasn't a 'secret,' but something she could envision Carl keeping to himself if he thought doing so would shield her. This wasn't exactly how she had planned on sharing the news with her family. She'd hoped for things to stay quiet a little while longer before they would have to allow the inevitable intrusion of outside voices into their nest._

 _Of course, keeping it from Carl was impossible, especially since he spent so much time around them that he'd quickly suspected something was up. His inquisitive mind rarely missed social queues, but he'd said nothing but a few side comments about why she'd "moved in with Spencer when there was space at Glenn and Maggie's" or why they seemed to always be together. She knew he was goading her into a confession of sorts, but, for a while at least, she'd sidestepped much of his comments. She had finally broken the week before and been open to him about her current situation. It was clear he wasn't Spencer's biggest fan, worried that he couldn't take care of her if things went pear-shaped, but she seemed so at peace, happy even. Her happiness overrode everything else. And so, always wanting to keep her confidence, he didn't tell his father._

 _Now able to be more open with Spencer when Carl and Judith were around, she had no qualms about having them stay with her while Rick was on his run with Daryl. Things were still awkward between them. Strange even. Thankfully, both had made the commitment to work past their previous conflict for the sake of Carl and Judith._

 _It had been a few weeks since she'd had regular contact with the kids, but Rick had practically begged her back into their lives and she wouldn't refuse a chance to reconnect with the children who had helped make her whole again. Really, she couldn't. She'd missed them so much. When she was willing to own her truth, she could admit she'd missed Rick as well. At the end of the day, they were family. Theirs was an improbable bond born out of circumstance, but one fortified by genuine love and understanding. It had been a be a fool's errand to try to break it, and she had discovered that she no longer wanted to do so._

 _Rick had dropped them off that morning and they'd had a great time catching up and doing so work together in the community. When Rick had come by later that evening, they were already asleep upstairs neither had wanted to wake them, so Rick had let them be and gone home for the night._

" _I had thought this was your house since I watched you walking towards the door," Jesus continued. "I snuck around to the side, scaled the trellis, and had sneaked down the stairs and planned on waiting in the kitchen until the sun came up and people got up for the day. I had no intention of scaring anyone."_

" _Yeah, well you did," Rick retorted, sneaking a glance at Michonne, who was apparently intent on studying the wood grains on the table._

 _Of course, Rick knew about them. Carl wasn't the only one with observation skills. He'd seen them around the community. Walking closer than necessary from one place to the other. Sharing laughs and jokes he was not privy to, spending a lot of time in the Monroe home, even though she was ostensibly still staying with Glenn and Maggie. His heart sank, but he knew he had no right to feel this way. After all, this was an apt punishment for his mistakes. Seeing her happy… without him, broke his heart. But self-loathing convinced him it was what he deserved, even though he knew this hadn't been her intent and would have never been what she wanted for him._

" _So, what were you planning on doing?" Glenn asked, ignoring his shock at seeing Michonne and Spencer darting down the stairs together as he, Maggie, and Rick rushed into the Monroe house._

" _I was just going to see what I could see about your setup," Jesus replied. "My community is always looking for allies. And because you didn't hurt me or leave me for the dead, I figured you might be another community we could trade with an– "_

" _You trade with others?" Maggie interrupted, the excitement raising her voice an octave or two. "What do you mean? Where?"_

" _You haven't run into any other settlements yet?" Jesus inquired, surprised at Maggie's revelation. "You're not trading with anyone?"_

" _Fuck no!" Abe boomed. "The folks we've run into so far haven't exactly been the type willing to play nice with us."_

" _How many communities?" Spencer asked, catching Michonne's eye as she turned to look up at him. "What are you trading?"_

" _We have… a few," Jesus replied, his evasiveness causing Rick and Michonne to straighten up in their chairs._

" _I'd like to show you my community first," Jesus replied, his eyes moving back and forth from Rick to Michonne. "You've got the most stocked armory I've seen in a long, long time. That's great, but your food stock is low, especially for the amount of people I coun– I assume you have. That can't be enough to feed everyone, right?"_

 _Jesus glanced back and forth between Rick and Michonne, seeking some sort of confirmation of their current condition and any interest in possibly partnering with his community. With the way everyone seemed to be looking to both of them while speaking, it was clear to him that these would be the two that he needed to convince. They had a good setup here. One that might be beneficial to the Hilltop._

" _Our settlement is about a half-day's drive from here," he continued, now focused on Michonne. "If you're willing, I'll take you there so you can see for yourself._

" _What if this is an ambush?" Rick asked, looking over at Michonne._

" _I believe him," Michonne stated calmly. "If it was, he would've already taken what he wanted to take."_

 _Rick nodded, then continued, "All right, let's see what you've got."_

" _Trust me, your world is about to get much, much bigger," Jesus replied playfully, as he placed both hands on the table._

…

 _Carl led the way to the RV parked in front of the Monroe home, while Rick trailed behind, bouncing Judith on his hip as he walked. Rick turned towards the porch, watching as Michonne made her way down the stairs shoulder-to-shoulder with Jesus, whispering to him if they were long lost friends. The instance rapport surprised him; it wasn't like Michonne to warm up so easily to strangers, especially ones who had seemingly caught her in a vulnerable moment. Then again, she was a great judge of character. She'd trusted Aaron before any of the others had. He trusted her on this._

 _Rick shook his head, trying to discard the idea of Michonne being with Spencer… in 'that' way. The very thought made his heart ache with regret. Instead, he continued falling Carl to the RV as he hears the echo of Michonne laughing at something Jesus must have said._

" _Hey dad," Carl began, sheepishly looking to the ground as his father approached him. "I– I'm sorry for not telling you about Michonne and Spencer. Michonne said it wasn't a secret, but I got the feeling she didn't want to share it yet, so I kept quiet. Sorry for that."_

" _Yeah, well," Rick began, reaching his arm out to clap Carl on the shoulder. "I figured it out anyway. It was bound to happ'n. You've got nothin' to be sorry about. We're all grown-ups here and Michonne's can do whatever she wants. I just want her to be happy."_

" _Me too," Carl said, nodding as he finally looked up to meet his father's gaze. "She seems happy."_

 _Rick cast his son a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His regret was an endless cycle of wishing the best for her and wanting that best to mean she was with him and not Spencer. He couldn't afford to wallow in his regret as Michonne made her way to the Grimes, her eyes bright and a full-lipped smile on her lips._

" _Alright son, I'll drop Judith off with Olivia," Rick began, turning towards Michonne as she neared them. "Get your stuff. We're leavin' in 30."_

" _No, I think I'll stay here," Carl replied, reaching out to take his baby sister from Rick's arms, just as Michonne reached them. "Besides, I'm pretty sure no one's gonna want to look at a kid with a face like mine. Probably give 'em nightmares."_

 _Carl's words startled Rick and Michonne. Frown lines creased her forehead as Michonne leaned towards Carl and brushed the hair covering much of his face._

" _Hey," she probed, forcing Carl's face up to hers. "What's goin' on? Why would you say something like that?"_

" _Yeah Carl," Rick added, placing his hand on Carl's shoulder. "How could you even think something like that?_

" _No reason," Carl insisted, looking down at his sister. "It just came out."_

" _C'mon Carl," Michonne insisted, not buying his story for a minute. "Stuff like that doesn't just come out. Spill it. Why Carl?"_

 _Sighing, he turned to look up, his head moving back and forth between Michonne and his father. He'd been doing ok, finally starting to feel like himself about. But every time he looked in the mirror, it was a stark reminder of all he had lost. All they had all lost. Getting past it didn't seem to be getting easier as time went on._

" _Carl, look at me son," Rick implored, waiting until Carl's eye landed firmly on his. "I want you to know that I love you will all my heart. I could not do this without you. You are you. There is nothin' messed up about your face. Do you hear me? Nothin'."_

" _Your dad's right," Michonne began, taking a moment to make eye contact with Rick and instantly seeing how grateful he was to have her support. "You're perfect exactly as you are. You need to think of this as your badge of courage. You're the strongest person I know. I'm so proud of you Carl. Don't ever forget that."_

 _Carl looked up, taking in the seriousness written across both their faces. Holding the stare of those eyes that were nearly identical to his own, along with the deep brown eyes that made him feel tethered to this world and safe. He watched their eyes turn glassy, tears at the precipice. He nodded quickly, not sure he quite believed, but knowing they did, and so, he should._

 _Jesus stood a few feet away observing the family drama, unsure of how this dynamic coincided with the one he had previously witnessed at the dining room table. The beautiful samurai seemed to be with the other man, yet here she was, comforting the son of the other. It was all very strange, and very, very intriguing._

…

" _Hey babe!" Spencer called out from the porch of their home. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"_

 _Michonne gave Carl's arm a final squeeze before turning back towards the Monroe house, where Spencer beckoned her from the bottom steps. She walked over to meet him at the bottom of the porch steps._

" _I don't want you to go," he began, pulling her hand into his. "Why can't Rick handle this on his own? Why do you have to go?"_

" _I've already explained this Spencer," Michonne replied, just a little exasperated. "You know we need a bit of diplomacy here, which is why Maggie and I are going. I can handle myself. I'll be fine."_

" _Then we should both go," he argued, pulling her into his arms. "I don't like you out there with him."_

" _Spencer," she began, stilling him as she leaned in to give him a hug, laying her head against his chest. "You know I'm with you. Whether Rick goes or stays doesn't change that. You know that right? Please tell me you do."_

 _He used his fingertip to tilt her chin upwards so her eyes met his and began, "I know, but does he?"_

" _Spencer," she sighed, her eyes still trained on him as she soothed his ego. "You've got me standing in public with my arms around you. I think it's pretty clear to everyone where I stand."_

 _He nodded, dissatisfied, but knowing he would never win an irrational argument with Michonne. She was too logical for that. He looked up to see Rick and most of his original family members hop into the RV as the rest of the Alexandria congregated in front of the RV to see them off. Intertwining his fingers in hers, they walked towards the RV. He nodded to Rick as they arrived, watching as Rick's eyes fell to their clasped hands. Giving him a quick kiss, Michonne entered the van._

" _Keep her safe," Spencer said, looking directly at Rick._

"' _Course," Rick replied, turning to look into the RV as Michonne took her seat, before turning back to watch Spencer walk up the stairs of his porch and back into his home._

 _Holding onto the door of the RV, a peculiar thrill came over Rick. The potential start of something 'bigger' that Jesus' entrance into their lives had suggested piqued an energy he hadn't felt in a while. He thought back to crossing the gates into Alexandria just a few months ago. This wasn't exactly where he thought they would be. Yes, the fissures in their family were starting to heal, but this wasn't anywhere near what he'd imagined. As he glanced up into the RV to get a glimpse of Michonne as she smiled at whatever silly thing Jesus was whispering into her ear, he wondered if this might be the start of something new for them. Somehow, the air seemed charged, as if… something big was coming._

 _He couldn't tell if that feeling at the pit of his stomach was good or bad, but as he walked into the RV's main space and Michonne lifted her eyes to catch his, the light from the adjacent windows capture her smile in such a beguiling way. The warmth she radiated went straight to his heart, fanning a cozy feeling through to his extremities. For a spilt second, a glimmer of hope peeked out from the recesses of his consciousness and lit a spark that told him that perhaps, just maybe, things wouldn't be how they were right now forever. Maybe this would be the start of something else. Maybe._

* * *

"Would you just quit it 'an sit still?" Rick implored, perched on the bench that abutted the foot of their bed, while Michonne, her back to him, made herself comfortable on the floor between his knees. "You're messin' me up!"

"Have you ever even _touched_ a black woman's hair before?" Michonne, queried, already regretting letting him talk her into this. "You _need_ to listen and follow instructions."

"I don't know why I even agreed to this," she grumbled, shaking her head as she twisted

"Trina Baker," Rick stated, rubbing her shoulders to get her to relax into his touch.

"What?"

"You asked if I've touched a black woman's hair. The answer is 'yes.' Trina.

"Really? Well, who exactly is Trina Baker?"

"My second-grade girlfriend. She let me kiss her cheek and hold her hand too. Her mama would braid her hair in all these designs and she let me touch 'em. First love of my life."

"Miss Trina let you do all that? Color me impressed!"

"Don't be jealous. You're the last love of my life… and the best."

"Don't you try to sweet talk me know, after going on and on about another woman," she teased, leaning back into his legs. "So, what happened to Miss Baker? Please tell me the romance lasted beyond second grade."

"Well, you see, it was a pretty unfortunate situation," he drawled, letting himself get swept away by their false drama. "You see, she ended up leaving me for Marvin Jennings."

"Scandalous! She left you for someone named Marvin? Oh Rick, you must have been devastated."

"Oh, I'm not done sweetheart. It gets worse."

"Honestly, I don't see how it could. This is already closing in on being a tragedy of epic proportions."

"You oughta be cryin' instead of makin' fun of me. What she did? What she did still hurts my heart. She left me for the promise of a daily share of Marvin's mama's dessert. His mama was the best baker, so I do understand Trina's choice. At least a little bit. But still, how could she? I'm worth more than a piece of pie right?"

"Damn! Miss Baker was a cold piece!"

"The coldest," he retorted, taking in the twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, if Miss Baker let you touch her hair, she must have seen _something_ special in you," she concluded, laughing as she turned away from him as she leaned back into his legs. "You see the one I did? Just do the same. I promise not to leave you for Marvin and his mama's pie."

Chuckling, Rick gently bent her head forward and grabbed a loc with his fingertips. Looking at the one she'd already re-twisted to give him a frame of reference, he took the wide-toothed comb and slowly combed the short section of hair between her scalp and where the already twisted section began. Once he made a clean sweep of the unlocked hair, he spritzed the loose hair with the lavender oil and God-knows-what-else mix in the spray bottle at his feet, just like Michonne had showed him. Putting the bottle and comb to the side, he carefully twisted the combed hair between his fingers in the same direction as the one Michonne had done. When he finished, he laid the re-twisted loc over her shoulder, using a duck clip to hold it in place as he admired his work.

Reaching to the back of her head, Michonne touched Rick's re-twist, then her own. Not bad. He certainly got an 'A' for effort. She exhaled peacefully, stretching her back, as he began the next one. This ritual had been an every-other-month event at her salon in Atlanta, something she sorely missed. Then, it had been Sasha helping her whenever they ran into a store with products for their hair. It gave her the sense of home, the sense of the familiar. As she placed her hands on his sock covered feet, she realized that he was home and she never wanted to leave.

He'd treated her with all the care and gentleness she could have ever hoped for. First laying her down to smooth lotions across her body. Then making love to her with an aching intensity that left her breathless. He'd made the entire day all about her. All about making her happy. All about fulfilling her needs.

 _He definitely deserves something just for him._

She drew her knees to her chest as best she could, before spinning around on her bottom to face him. He peered down at her, bemused, the comb held up in mid-air. A mischievous smirk played across her lips as she put both hands on his knees and used them as light leverage to raise to hers. Relaxing her grip, she ran her hands up his bare legs, letting one hand drift into the leg hole of his boxers. She snorted gleefully as his lower half jerked on the bench while simultaneously bringing his hands down to halt her journey.

"Where are you goin' Sweetheart?" he queried, leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm not sure yet," she murmured, shifting her hand to move his out of the way as she made her way towards her destination. "But I'll let you know when I get there."

He legs trembled and a slow hiss escaped his lips when her soft, warm hand found its way to his member, delicately wrapping her fingers around the base.

"Yeah, I think I'm there," she cooed, gazing adoringly up at him as she used her other hand to pull his boxers down his waist as he eagerly lifted himself up to assist her.

She bent forward, laughing to herself at how her big belly seemed to make everything just a little bit harder. No matter. She was on a mission and anything less that completion would be considered failure. Gripping his rapidly enlarging member, she brought her soft, wet mouth to his dome, landing the lightest, airiest of kisses on top.

His body shook at the sensation. No matter how many times she did this and how enthusiastic her efforts, each time was like the very first. Her hands on him were like an electrical shock he was anticipating, yet somehow always caught him off guard.

He watched as she rolled her tongue around the thick bulb, his essence dripping from the tip, but quickly lapped up by her tongue. She could feel the pulsing of the nubby flesh in her palm, while the attentions from her warm mouth brought his erection to its full, proud length. Thoroughly wetting the head, she lowered her mouth over the length and worked her way down, getting as much of him into her mouth as she could. She palmed her shaft, wanting to take in all that she could, but knowing there were limits.

His singular scent permeated her senses, causing her own hedonistic reaction. She inhaled deeply, her core beginning to pulse as his hands steadily found their way into her locs. Not pulling or pushing, but carefully running his nails across her scalp, the tenderness belaying the eruption simmering within him.

Noting his 'tell,' she began to hum around his length, her head bobbing up and down as she took more and more of him in. Feeling him lift his hips from the bench, she increased her speed, using the thumb of her other hand to trace a line from the base of his member to that special spot just behind his balls. Pausing to stroke the spot, she expertly applied gentle pressure until she heard him grunt, fisting her locs in his hand.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned, trying to back away from her as he untangled his fingers from her hair.

She held him in place, lapping furiously as a loud groan emanated from his pursed lips, pushing her head back as he nearly stood up from the bench with a roar. She stilled as he released, taking in all he gave her until his loud groans morphed into deep, exhausted sighs.

When all was done, she pulled away from him, leaving a loving kiss on his inner thigh. Collecting himself, he pulled her from the floor, tipping them both over the bench, and landing in a shattered pile at the bottom of their bed. Satiated, happy, and clinging blissfully to each other.

…

As the peaceful silence enveloped them, Rick rubbed slow circles onto Michonne's belly, his mind vacillated between his eldest child and the one that would soon make her appearance. Carl had been spending more and more time at the Hilltop with Enid and it would be just a matter of time before he'd want to be there permanently; he'd already said as much on more than a few occasions.

"At some point, you have to let the bird leave the nest," Michonne murmured, sleepy from Rick's gentle touch.

Rick wasn't surprised that she could practically read his mind, even in her sleep. It'd been that way between them for a long time. He knew the prospects of Carl leaving was loaming on the horizon, but it didn't deaden his overwhelming need to keep his children close.

"Yeah, I know," he began, suddenly feeling very emotional as his voice trembled. "If I could keep 'im safe here with us, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But, he's growing up and I– _we_ need to be prepared. He's ready. He's been ready. He's the bravest person I know… aside from present company, of course."

As the peaceful silence enveloped them, Rick's mind went back to how all of this would have played out if their path had been laid out differently.

"He asked me when the right age is to get married," Rick chuckled, shaking his head in disbelieve. "Can you imagine that? He's barely a teenager!"

"Well, the same rules don't apply in this world," she murmured, rubbing his chest to ease a bit of his worry. "It's not fair, but his childhood was shorter than ours. We can't help that. Besides, he's an old soul. He knows what he wants and isn't afraid. I worry too, but I love him even more because of it. He'll be fine."

"Every thought about getting married?" he asked, the left-field question causing her to rise from his chest. "Then… and now. Is it even still a thing in this world? I don't even know."

She stared at him for a few beats before answering, "yeah, I guess it's still a thing. Something like that doesn't ever really go away. It just wasn't that important to me in the old world. Now? I'm not sure. Do we need it?"

"My gramps always said marriage was _the road to forever_ and when you meet the right person, you'll never want the journey to end. _You're_ my right person."

Michonne smiled, tears welling up as tilted her head to welcome his lips to hers, before resting her cheek back onto his chest.

"Married or not," she whispered, his soothing caress lulling her to sleep. "With you, I never ever want this journey to end."

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm so sorry for this ridiculously long delay. Life and work, followed by a crushing bout of writer's block and self-doubt got in my way. This chapter was trying to kill my will, so I've split it into 2 parts to make things a bit more manageable. Yup, part one is nearly 9k words. I clearly have issues with moderation. Lol. I hope it makes sense because I really don't even know anymore.

This is meant to be a light, fun look at the past, while they prep for the baby. We've still got to get through a few dark clouds, but it's mostly sunny for the rest of this story.

On the positive side, we're nearing the end of this little tale and the rest is pretty much written. I just need to edit, which is my least favorite part. I promise not to take another 84 years to close this out. As always, thank you for reading!


	11. A Better Future - Part I

**A/N** : This chapter is a bit of a connect-the-dots' one, but it's heavy Carchonne and Richonne (in flashbacks) so I hope everyone's up for that. Thanks for your patience, the next chapter is right behind this one; more notes at the end.

* * *

Late afternoon sun streamed in from the large bay windows framing the dining room, beaming dim streaks of light across the table and whipping scant dust particles into the air. Michonne, standing on the opposite side of the table, forearms resting on top of the chair in front of her, looked on as Carl went about setting the table, his hurried movements causing the fading light to flit across his bowed head, highlighting dark brown tresses in bursts of auburn and chestnut.

Narrowing her gaze, Michonne watched as he pulled out a chair, sat down, and slowly began folding two freshly-laundered white napkins. Frustration briefly marred his features as he struggled to replicate the artful design Michonne had demonstrated to him earlier that day.

"Now this is where things can get a _little_ tricky, so you'll need to hurry up and pay attention," Michonne teasingly commanded.

She leaned back on her heels, closing her eyes for a moment to tune into the muffled laughter coming from their backyard. The balmy, tranquil breeze drifting in through the open backdoor, along with Judith's squeals of glee, wrapped Michonne in a cozy nest she hoped never to have to leave. Her mind's eye saw the joy on Judith's face as Rick, likely limping by now, chased her around the yard. She envisioned Rick's grin as he gave into Judith's always elaborate make-believe. His steadfast willingness to indulge in whatever fanciful game his sweet girl had insisted he play with her never failed to make her swoon.

 _He'll be sore later_ , she thought, taking a mental note to run a hot bath for him once she finished helping Carl pull together his special treat for Enid. He deserved a little something to ease the pain in his knees brought on by whatever abuse he decided was necessary to bring forth their little girl's joyful giggles.

"That one over there?" she continued, opening her eyes and gesturing across the table to the place setting next to Carl. " _That_ fork is actually for salads and goes on the _outside_. Forks to the left, knives to the right, napkins centered on the plate. Like I said, it's the lit–"

"Yeah, I know," Carl interrupted, his clumsy hands and compromised vision no match for the intricate pleating required to get the napkin _Michonne_ -right. "It's the little things. I'm probably overthinking it, but I want this to be a happy memory for her. You know?"

She knew such elaborate details weren't his forte, but he was determined to create something that would put a smile on Enid's face. She'd had front row seats to the patience and attention he showed while pulling the once troubled girl out of her shell and into fully embracing the good life that was still possible, even in this world.

Michonne marveled at how he never failed to try to do the same for her. Being so near her due date, the most mundane activity had begun to tax her body much more quickly than before. She wasn't one to complain or let it slow her down, but the past week had brought a few more physical challenges, making her a bit anxious for the impending birth. Luckily, the Grimes boys had decided to make it their life's mission to ensure she barely had to lift a finger around the house. With her boys on the lookout, Michonne didn't want for much.

As of late, Carl's devotion had kicked into overdrive. Chiding her to rest if he noticed her on her feet too long, entertaining Judith when she was being a bit too rambunctious, and _constantly_ asking how she was feeling. Carl's determination and focus when it came to taking care of the people he cared about filled her with enormous pride. _He truly was his father's son._

They'd spend the entire morning in their own little self-contained bubble, Carl never once leaving her side. Never a dull moment when it was just the two of them. While Michonne gave cooking lessons, they shared stories and discussed life lessons. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. The enticing scent coming from the pot simmering on the stovetop perfumed the entire house, tantalizing her taste buds and reminding her how meaningful these ordinary moments had become for all of them.

Rick had practically _begged_ her to let Carl handle this on his own, but he'd relented after realizing that having this time with their boy was something she truly cherished. Just being in Carl's company always gave her an energetic boost and a renewed sense of purpose. Her heart soared knowing that no matter how grown-up he might be, her advice was something he'd always seek.

Even when bracketed by painful moments, these happy slivers of life served to reaffirm the sacrifices she and Rick had undertaken to ensure Carl and Judith had a chance to _live_. To not just learn how to fight the monsters, but how to fight for what they cared about, what they loved. To pave the way for a better world and to serve a cause greater than themselves.

Michonne leaned over the back of the chair, attempting to reach the silverware and move it to its proper location. Sighing, she quickly realized the pronounced swell of her near-term belly made even a simple reach an insurmountable task. Opting to pull the chair out from under the table, she bent down and plucked the smaller fork from beside the knife, where Carl had originally placed it, and dropped it in its proper place to the left of the larger fork.

Arching slightly backwards to relieve some of the pressure on her sore back, she pushed away from the table and proudly took in their handy work. Beaming a self-satisfied grin down on Carl, she caught his hopefulness, mixed with nerves, as he labored to complete the final folds. He looked up at her, taking in the happy look on her face and producing his own crooked smile.

"Now you'll always know how to _correctly_ set the table," she said, pulling out a chair and turning it sideways to accommodate her jutting tummy. "It's easy. There's really only one thing to remember: We eat from the outside in. Got it? Little things. Just pay attention to the details and you'll always do fine."

Carl looked down at the origami creation in his hands, his gaze shifting back and forth between his version and her flawless example. While certainly not a perfect match, his approximation was not so far off target. Stacking his slightly askew napkins on the table, he looked up and said,

"That's because you make _everything_ look easy."

As she began lowering herself onto the chair, Carl leapt up and trotted around the table to help her. She smiled as he took her arm and gently eased her down onto her seat. Settling into her chair, she brought both hands to comfortably rest on top of her belly. She raised her legs up a bit to look down at the sandals Rick had brought her from his last run, the weave pattern of the soft leather leaving faint indentations on her skin as she toed-off the only shoes now able to fit her swollen feet.

Smiling, she soothed the active baby summersaulting in her belly, taking in the distinct scent she could still pick up from the brown t-shirt covering her large bump, not-so-secretly on-loan from the man she loved so dearly.

"But all of this came from _you_ ," she said, rubbing calming circles across the soft fabric enrobing her tummy. "I only helped with execution. Besides, she already knows what's in your heart. Don't worry so much. You've got this."

Her words helped push down the remaining uncertainty, Carl pulled out the chair next to Michonne and turned it sideways so they could face each other. Enid was like Michonne, complicated, but sensible. What had started out as a request for help in comforting Enid on the anniversary of her parents' death, had morphed into an extended etiquette lesson from what he was slowly discovering was an extraordinarily fussy Michonne.

He'd first gone to his father, leaving with a 'Chonne's much better person to ask 'bout that.' Carl knew Michonne would have the right solution anyway. After all, she had a knack for making the most everyday things feel like _something_. A simple dinner of leftovers would include fresh flowers on the table. Any milestone would require they dress up a bit and have a candlelit dinner together. If anyone knew what would make someone like Enid smile, it would be Michonne.

Carl stretched his arm across the table to grab one of the silver napkin rings Michonne had pulled from the sideboard next to the dining table, after having insisted this was an actual thing people used to do. He picked up a napkin and slipped it through the ring, pulling the ring towards the middle of the napkin like Michonne had shown him.

"I never knew _any_ of this stuff," Carl said, placing one of the napkins in the center of each of the two dinner plates. "I guess my mom had simpler tastes. It was pretty much just a napkin, a knife, and fork on the table. Maybe a spoon if we were having chili."

"I guess I never thought about it like that. It's just muscle memory from Grammy Michie. I don't even think about it. She _insisted_ every meal include a proper place setting, even if we were just having sandwiches and tea for lunch. She even had a copy of 'Emily Post on Etiquette' on the shelf where she kept her cookbooks. If I got out of line, which, mind you, I _never_ did, that book was coming out _mighty_ quick to highlight the error of my ways."

Carl leaned back in his chair, joining Michonne in laughter. He turned back towards her, noticing the laugh lines brightening her features had gradually transformed into wistfulness. Michonne's Grammy was a fond topic for both of them. He got to hear about a Michonne he wished he had gotten a chance to know, and she got to share some life lessons from the woman who had taught her everything.

Sitting in their home, wrapped in a blanket of contentment, Michonne found it easy to get misty about the woman who had raised her. The woman who'd taken in a terrified five-year-old who'd heartbreakingly lost everything. The woman who'd been her biggest fan, as well as her biggest challenger when she stepped out of line. Mrs. Michonne Thibodaux's namesake was an obedient child, which was lucky since _nothing_ ever got past Grammy.

"I don't think I buy all of this just for sandwiches," Carl said, pointing to the table, now fit for even the poshest of dinner parties. "I wouldn't wanna have to do all the extra dirty dishes."

"I thought so too when I was a kid, but she always said 'if you do the best for yourself, you'll never settle for less from anyone else.' It was a way for her to make things feel nice… nice and _important_. She made _everything_ feel special."

"So do you," Carl said softly, nodding towards the kitchen where the intoxicating aroma from their joint culinary creation made his stomach growl.

"Oh, Carl," she sighed, tears suddenly beading in the corners of her eyes. "You're so sweet to say that. I just want you guys to have _something_ normal in all of this. That, and good manners will always be important."

"You done that," Carl murmured, looking adoringly at her. "I know how hard it's been, what you've lost to get us here. I'm gra– I'm grateful. We're really built something good here."

She reached out to stroke his cheek, thinking of each time the odds weren't in their favor, but how they managed to get to the other side anyway. The Governor. Terminus. The Wolves. The Saviors. Every time they had to dig deep, give up more than they thought they could possibly bare, just for another tomorrow.

"Oh! One sec," he said, jumping up from his seat. "Almost forgot a detail!"

She smiled, giving him a wink as he hurriedly rose from his seat and walked towards the kitchen. She looked on as he retrieved the flowers they'd cut from the backyard earlier that day. Michonne had directed the activity since her current condition prevented any movement requiring a bend of more than 45 degrees.

Carl had carefully cut the flowers under her watchful eyes, using the gardening shears to delicately clip the bougainvillea which had grown like a weed across the trellis covering their back patio. The bright violet petals an almost eerie reminder of the beauty that once was, and what they were all committed to bringing back.

They'd stolen a few blooms, but not enough to jeopardize the future growth of the plant, as he'd been taught so long ago. Carl pulled a lead-glass vase from an upper cupboard, filled it with water from the sink, and placed the flowers haphazardly into the vase.

"Now let's move on to lesson number five," Michonne called out, watching him pause to pull a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and fill a glass, before retrieving the flowers from the countertop. "We're not quite done yet."

"Wait a minute!" Carl grumbled, walking back to the dining room, vase in one hand and a glass of tea for Michonne in the other. "How is there _more_? I thought number five was setting the table and that was it."

"That was four and a half," Michonne sighed, feigning exasperation as she took the tea from his outstretched hand. "Lesson five is setting the appropriate _ambiance_."

"Ok… so what exactly does that mean?" Carl queried, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"It depends on what scene you want for this dinner. Do you want this to be fun and playful? Or _romantic_?"

The minute she said the word, she knew she had Carl in the crosshairs. She watched as the tips of his ears reddened; a deeper hue slowly made its way down his neck, finally ending with a light blush scattered across his cheeks. She chuckled quietly as she watched him fidget in front of her.

 _Just like his father; way too easy to tease._

"Romantic, I guess," Carl mumbled.

"Then romantic it is! Let's get out the candles."

Carl placed the vase in front of her, knowing she'd want a chance to rearrange the flowers, while he retrieved the candles and their holders from atop sideboard. She looked at the lovely blooms, practically glowing as the final remnants of light streamed in from the windows. The violet moving from lilac to deep purple depending on how she moved the vase on the table.

The grace to find beautiful in this cruel world and share it with her children. This was always what the fight was about. Thinking back to their first big step forward, she smiled to herself, as her fingers trace along a single, delicate petal.

* * *

" _There's a group out there callin' themselves 'the Saviors'. Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha ran into 'em on the road. They've been taking from communities like the Hilltop for a while now. They'll be comin' for us next. We can't afford to let that happen. We needa' strike first and eliminate the threat."_

 _Rick paused for a moment, taking in the rapt, yet cautious faces looking up at him from the pews of Alexandria's church._

" _Look at me. Thought I had everythin' figured out. Thought I knew everythin' I needed to know 'bout making it in this world. But I didn't. I don't. There's a whole new world out there, beyond those gates. There are people out there, people just like us. Good people who want to live and let live. People who want to rebuild society. Make it even better than it was before. You saw what we brought back today. There's more of that beyond those gates. This is not about just survivin'. It's about thrivin'."_

 _His eyes landed on more than a few doubtful faces. He understood the skepticism. Hell, they had every right to still be suspicious of him. He couldn't imagine standing here in front of them a few months ago. The Alexandrians never would have trusted him. She wouldn't have trusted him._

 _He wouldn't have trusted himself either. Not with the way his jumbled mind almost led him down a path of complete destruction. He could see that now. This was his chance to prove his worth, to be the leader they needed. To build this – whatever this was – for Carl, for Judith, and for her too._

 _It never quite left his mind how the herd actually brought Alexandria together and made them a community. The singular moment when adversaries became friends, family even. The catalyst for all that was to come._

 _He scanned the room, landing on Carl in the front row grinning up at him as he cradled a drowsy Judith in his arms. He smiled down at his son. After all, this was really for them. A chance, in this world gone to hell, to create a lasting legacy for his children. Something that they could use to build a better future._

 _He turned his attention to the right, eyes quickly searching for her. Seeking out the subtle encouragement she never failed to cast his way. Coming back from the Hilltop, Michonne at his side, his mind electric. They enthusiastically discussed the possibilities Jesus had laid bare, going back and forth on opportunities to carve out a real future for all of them._

 _Finally, his eyes met hers. She returned his smile, rolling her eyes slightly as he held her gaze. While she stood to the side of the alter next to Spencer, he still felt her beside him. Wanting more crept into his mind more times than he cared to admit, but that ship had long since sailed. He would hold down the pinpricks of pain he felt about her absence and settle for the comfort of their renewed friendship._

 _Placing his hands on the dais and motioning, he continued, "Maggie worked out a deal with the Hilltop. A deal where we get regular trade with them if we– if we eliminate the 'Savior' problem. Now I know that isn't easy for y'all to here, but that's the way the world is now. Sometimes, we'll need to fight to survive."_

 _Rick noted a few loud grumbles making their way through the building. He was losing them. Maybe this wouldn't work after all. Noticing movement to his right, he looked over to see Michonne leaving Spencer's side and joining him in front of the group._

" _Rick's right," she began, letting the noise die down before continuing. "If we want more, if we want better, we're gonna have to fight for it. That's just how life is now. It's messy, it's ugly. But that's the reality for all of us. That doesn't mean there isn't any goodness here too. That's what this battle is about. Giving us the best chance possible to get to the goodness. I wouldn't be up here standing next to Rick if I didn't think this was the right call."_

 _As she continued, Rick's attention remained solely focused on her profile. He was bowled over by the complete faith in him she'd professed. Before his breakdown, they'd created a near-perfect balance between each other's temperaments; a whole much stronger than either was individually. It had been that way with them for a long time… until it wasn't._

 _Maybe this chance at expanding their world would accelerate the thawing of the distance between them. With that in mind, he silently pledged to do whatever he could to recapture at least as much of what he had lost as she would grant him._

" _This isn't something we want to do," she added. "It's hard, it's dangerous. But so is staying here with our supplies dwindling. This'll open us up to other communities, help us flourish. Grow. Like Rick said, this is for all of us."_

 _A soft buzz made its way around the confines of their community's small church. He felt the change in the audience almost immediately. She'd won them over; people were getting on board. Smiling his gratitude and a silence plea to stay at the front with him, Michonne nodded in acknowledgement and remained by his side._

" _Whatever you need, I'm in," Tobin said, as assenting murmurs reverberated around the small enclosed space._

" _I appreciate that," Rick began, rocking back onto his heels._

 _Rick looked out across the sea of faces excitedly chattering away at the prospects of actually turning the tide in their favor._

" _For now, let's just get everythin' we brought back inventoried," Rick stated. "Maggie's got the list of what we need to do to prepare the gardens for the seeds we brought back. She'll be out front handing out assignments as you head back to your homes."_

 _Ducking his head to clear lingering doubts from his mind, he looked back out at the hopeful faces, now willing to take on a battle he'd brought to their gates. Soaking up the energy permeating the air, he looked over at Michonne's face, his confidence bolstered by her assured expression. It would be hard, but they could win. They would win. Walking down the steps to the pews, he said,_

" _All right then, let's get to work."_

...

"And we place the candles like so," Michonne said, laying the candles on either side of the vase, now centered on the table. "And voila! Ambience."

Carl smiled, finally grasping the full vision of what Michonne had helped him create. This was _nice_.

"Did you do dinners like this? You know, before?"

"U-huh. It was sorta Mike's and my thing. He was the _king_ of grand gestures. I didn't really bring guys around in high school because Grammy was a pretty tough audience. Besides, I had my head so deep in books growing up, I barely came up for air! She didn't play about education. She wanted me to 'fulfill my destiny' and make her proud. But Mike? Yeah, Grammy loved him a lot. 'A true gentleman,' she used to say. She didn't realize he literally charmed the pants off of _everyone_."

"Where'd you meet him?" Carl asked, suddenly curious about this phantom from Michonne's past, the man he'd only associated with her greatest pain and loss.

"First day of law school at Emory," she stated, taking a moment to turn and face him as Carl returned to his seat next to hers.

Carl gave her his full attention, settling in for whatever she was willing to share.

"It was the first day of this class I was taking: 'The History of Civil Disobedience.' I'm sure it will shock you to know that I was in the front row, directly across from the Professor's podium, 25 minutes early and I–"

"Wait what? So, you've been a nerd forever? I'm stunned!"

"Ok smartass," she said, playfully tapping him on the back of the head with her knuckle. "I'll give you that _one_ since I obviously set myself up."

"Thanks for the generosity," he retorted, dodging another tap to the back of his head.

"Keep trying me boy, and we're gonna have problems," she mocked, pulling him closer and placing her arm over his.

"Now what was I saying? Right, anyway, I was early, course syllabus printed out, laptop open and ready to take notes. Prepared, as always. Always prepared to make a good first impression, yeah know? The Professor had started talking about his background and what the course would focus on when I hear this loud shuffling of feet running down the stairs of the auditorium."

"I can just see you," Carl tipping his head back and laughing. "Let me guess, you were madder than the Professor was, right?"

"I'm starting to think you know me just a little _too_ well Mon Ami," she giggled, glancing towards him as he pretended to wipe tears from his eyes.

 _So dramatic, this one is_ , she thought, rolling her eyes.

"Are you gonna let me know finish my story, or do you want to tell your own?"

"No way," he teased, placing his arm back under hers. "I definitely wanna hear this!"

"Ok then. So this guy comes barreling down the stairs, and plops himself _right_ next to me. There's so many empty rows, but he feels he needs to be all up in _my_ space. I'm annoyed, a little bit irrationally disgusted even. All I can think about is how disrespectful this clown was and what Grammy would think if she witnessed such a thing."

Michonne smiled and paused as she thought back to the first time she laid eyes on Michael Terrence Anthony. The way she didn't even bother to side-eye him. How she'd turned fully towards him, eyebrows fully raised at his audacity. She remembered him returning her look, clearly mimicking her, before breaking out in what would become his signature grin, as he mouthed 'sorry' and pulled out his laptop. She remembered shaking her head and snorting, which elicited a sharp chuckle from Mike, and loud throat clearing from the Professor, drawing embarrassing attention Michonne on her first day.

"I was so annoyed with him that I could barely pay attention the entire class, which definitely wasn't my style," she continued, leaning back in her seat to rub her still-thumping belly. "He was typing quietly but furiously on his laptop, so I got curious about what he could be taking so many notes on when the Professor was basically still talking about himself."

"So, you were being nosy, huh?" Carl asked, tipping his head back to catch the twinkle in her eyes.

"Ummm… I'd prefer to call it 'investigative reporting,'" she countered, taking a sip, then placing her glass of tea back on the table.

"I'm not buying it, but you can proceed," he replied.

"Why, thank you kind sir," she mocked, reaching for another sip of her tea. "Back to Mike. At the top of his page, he had in bold 'The First Day'. I couldn't read all of it, but what I could read said, 'Just met my wife _.'_

"That's how it was with Mike," Michonne stated, the melancholy slowly emanating from her, like ashes in dwindling fire. "Audacious, fun, living his life aloud."

Carl looked down at the ridges in the wood of their dining table, waiting for her to continue, captivated by her story and wanting to hear more about Michonne from _before_. He lifted his head to meet the reflective smile on her face as she reached over to push the curtain of hair obscuring his face from her and tucking it behind his ears.

"Was that what made you love him?" Carl questioned, his eye trained on Michonne as she slowly nodded her head.

"He was easy to love," Michonne stated, shrugging at Carl's question. "A little bit careless, a lot carefree. He brought out this side of me that I didn't even know existed."

She shifted in her chair, her heavy belly and aching feet taxed from the exertions of the day.

"When it was good, it was _everything_. I grew so much as a person being with him. We were well-matched bef– before all of this."

"Why do you think that changed?"

Michonne wrapped her arms around her belly, pivoting away from him slightly and staring out the window into the rose bushes framing the low fence wrapping around the side yard.

"The thing with Mike was that he refused to adapt. He thought he could stay just like he was before. Jovial, playful, fun. He thought the new rules didn't apply to him."

"The new rules apply to _all_ of us," Carl said, watching her agree with a subtle nod.

"Yeah. If he would have _tried_ , I think we would have made it. Maybe. I think so, but I don't know anymore. I try not to dwell on all of it too much because I do believe things, even the most painful ones, happen for a reason."

"I guess I always had faith that things would turn out ok, even when it looked really, really bad for us," Carl mumbled, seeing the tears coating her eyelashes. "It's hard, but I think we'll be ok."

"That's why your mom said what she said," Michonne said, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek. "You're gonna beat this world Carl, I know it."

Carl looked down, grasping her hand.

"First, I was angry at him. Then I was mostly sad and frustrated. But when he– when he couldn't take care of our baby, I was just numb. I never thought I'd recover, I really didn't. But here I am."

"Do you forgive him?" Carl whispered, gripping her hand tighter.

"Yeah, I do," she whispered. "At least for most of it. He wasn't a guy that scared easily and this brought him to his knees. I know that. I just… There're still pieces of it that I'm working to let go. I think I'll need a bit more time for that."

Carl nodded, leaning in for a side hug, before getting up and making his way back to the kitchen. He grabbed an oven mitt from the hook besides the sink and used it to carefully lift the lid off the bubbling pot. Looking down at the thickening stew, he gave it a quick stir, before placing the lid back onto the pot and the wooden paddle back on the tray next to the store. Leaning against the countertop and staring back at Michonne in the dining room, he grinned and released a satisfied sigh.

Michonne smiled and shook her head, marveling at the evolution of this young man from the angry little boy she'd met only three short years prior. She could still see hints of the boy, but his shoulders had squared, his voice had deepened. He'd learn how to keep himself and those he loved safe. He'd learned to think beyond just making it. He demanded more for his future.

He was exactly what this world needed and she was proud. Proud for any small role she'd played in shaping the man he was to become. Proud to have risked everything for his future. Proud that when the door to the new world was opened for them, she and Rick had opted to walk right through it.

* * *

 _One by one, the Alexandrians rose from the pews and began exiting the church. They'd suffered a long spell of lean times since the Wolves brought a herd of destruction to their gates. The additional efforts to restore and fortify the walls had taken precious time and people away from runs, leaving their food stock precariously low and morale even lower. But as Rick had pontificated over the past several weeks, the 'law of averages' was bound to fall in their favor at some point. Now, it had._

 _Rick looked down at his boots, studying the wear patterns as he contemplated the best approach to accomplish what they needed to do. He didn't really think one way or another about the task at hand. If it was a matter of his family's survival or the survival of people he didn't know, the choice was obvious. Without regret, he would be willing to kill so that those he loved could live. Simple as that._

 _He looked up, their eyes nearly instantly finding each other for just a moment. She eventually opted to break the hold and turn in towards Spencer, who spying Rick, had possessively pulled her closer to his side. Rick dropped his head again, collecting his thoughts as he prepared for the real meeting, his family planning for the fight with the Saviors._

 _As the church emptied, Rick nodded at Michonne. Instinctively, she rose, gesturing to Spencer as she led the rest of their family out the door and towards the Monroe house. She had his back, for which he was grateful. It didn't reduce the nerves coursing through his body, but it did give him some semblance of relief that he was doing what he needed to do to lead Alexandria forward._

 _His eyes followed her out the church door. As he began walking after her, Jessie's voice stopped him._

" _Rick?" she asked, prodding a sleepy Sam, who was nestled beside her. "You're not coming home? The meeting's over, so I just thought we'd be headed back–"_

 _Rick looked over at her, still seated, her arm wrapped tightly around a dozing Sam. He sighed, not wanting to have this conversation, but knowing he must._

" _We've still got a few things to go over," he replied, keeping his head lowered and his eyes firmly planted on the floor. "I'm headed over to the Monroe's. Won't be long."_

" _If you like, I can go with you," she eagerly said, hopeful that he'd finally include her in an activity that involved his 'family.' "I'm pretty good at playing devil's advocate, if I do say some myself. I'm here if you need another opinion on something."_

 _He looked into her expectant eyes, then quickly looked away, knowing there was no way this conversation would end without disappointing her. The reality was that he didn't trust her with his true self, at least not the way Michonne seemed to trust Spencer. Her eyes constantly asked for more, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. He knew he was disappointing her, but also knew that safety was all he could offer her because, that was all he truly had to give her. Everything else he had belonged to another._

" _Nah, that won't be necessary," he said, rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against his thumb, bringing his eyes up to rest on hers. "Sam looks tired. Why don't you take him home? I'll meet you there in a little bit."_

 _Her eyes searched his, looking for a sign, anything that would tell her that she was in anyway living this life with him. That she had any chance of getting into his inner circle. His eyes gave her nothing, just impatience with a hint of frustration. Sighing, she gently nudged a sleepy Sam, kissing the top of his head as he let out a loud, long yawn._

" _C'mon baby," she said, rising from the pew and pulling a reluctant Sam up with her. "Let's get you to bed."_

 _She reached out to rub Rick's shoulder as she passed him, feeling him tense as her hands moved from his shoulder and down his arm. She stilled for a moment in front of him, her eyes focused on the top of Sam's head. She was saddened, but not surprised. Things hadn't exactly gone the way she'd hoped. He'd offered her safety, but not companionship. She'd clearly hoped for more than what this man was willing to give._

" _Don't be too long," she mumbled, waiting for his nod before guiding Sam out the church's front doors._

…

" _So, what exactly are you sayin'?" Rick challenged, the vein in his forehead pulsating as he sneered up at the younger man._

 _Michonne remained seated in the armchair by the bookshelf, aware that intervening at this point wouldn't be prudent. They both clearly had to get it out of their system. She'd stay silent with the rest of the group until both men reached an understanding, begrudgingly or not._

" _I'm not sure this is a good idea Rick," Spencer countered, matching the Rick's hard gaze with one of his own. "How do we even know this Jesus guy is telling the truth? What if he's just using us to fight his own battles?"_

" _We are fighting his battle," Rick replied dismissively. "That's the point of all of this. We get rid of the Saviors, we build an alliance, we grow. That's what we're trying to do here."_

" _C'mon man," Daryl said, stepping between Rick and Spencer, placing a hand on the younger man's chest. "You've been out there plenty now. You know what this is."_

" _Yeah," Spencer said, sneaking a look at Michonne. "I know what this is. That's why I want to be out there."_

" _Spencer," Michonne began, rising from her seat and walking towards him. "We've all done this before. We've got each other's backs. It'll be fine."_

" _I can help is all I'm saying," he said, looking down into her eyes. "I'm not sure this trade is worth the risk, that's all I'm saying."_

" _You're questioning me after we came back with all this food?" Rick asked incredulously. "We brought back enough to last a couple of months! Maybe you haven't starved enough times to understand what that means, but the rest of us have."_

 _Michonne looked on, conflicted by Spencer's outburst. She got it, she got him. He'd never had to deal with making hard decisions. Never had to pick between his loved ones starving and sacrificing others. Never really had to fight. He was getting there, but wasn't yet able to digest all the horrors of the new world order._

" _Are you an' I gonna have a problem?" Rick questioned, dragging his hands down to rest on either side of his gun belt. "'Cuz if we are, then c'mon with it. Let's get it out right now. Can't afford to be takin' our eyes off of what we gotta do."_

 _Michonne also knew part of Spencer's hesitation was solely because Rick was the one driving the ship. He'd have been fine if the plan had come from her lips. Coming from Rick, he was hardwired to reject it. Spencer dealt with their renewed closeness the best he could, knowing how much it meant to Michonne to maintain her bond with Carl and Judith, but she knew he didn't like it. He'd become fiercely protective of their relationship, especially any time he felt Rick was overstepping._

" _No Rick," Spencer countered, standing his ground. "I'm just saying this is a risky move. That's it. If Michonne's ok, then I'm ok."_

" _Fine, then it's settled," Daryl said, moving out from between the warring men and making his way to the front door. "I'll see y'all in the mornin'."_

 _Michonne reached out, placing her hand on Spencer's arm and giving him a gentle squeeze. She walked them over to the front door to see everyone out. Secretly, she was worried too, but taking this chance seemed worth the risk. They'd be careful. They always were. She'd try to explain that to Spencer once everyone had left._

 _As the group filed out, Spencer gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned to walk upstairs to bed. Rick was the last one out and paused for a moment, his intense gaze giving her that prickly, nervous feeling._

" _You got a minute for me?" Rick drawled, watching as her head turned towards the stairs where Spencer had just disappeared._

 _She turned back to him, scrutinizing the flicker of doubt as it ripple across his eyes._

" _Yeah," she said, guiding him out onto her front porch. "I got a minute for you."_

* * *

 **A/N** : *SIGH* Life has decided to be a jerk lately and it's thrown off my entire process, such as it was. Editing continues to be my Achilles' heel, which is why I just gave up and split this into two chapters. On the plus side, the second half will be posted tomorrow. So, yay. Also, there are only three more chapters. The end is near my friends!

I had an entirely different direction for this chapter, but ended up scraping it and moving somethings to a later chapter. I'm not sure it works and may re-edit at a later date.

For those still on this journey with me, thank you! I've promised myself to wrap up this story by the end of August, so there you go. Gauntlet dropped. Feel free to come for me if I don't.

And for those who read my Carchonne prompt (The Little Things) on weretheoneswhowrite's tumblr, you _might_ notice something extra in this chapter. As always, thank you for reading!


	12. A Better Future - Part II

_They settled down on the top step of the porch, the cold concrete quickly seeping through their jeans, their knees touching slightly in the confined space._ _She looked back up at the front door, kept ajar in case Spencer decided to come back down. She remained quiet, waiting for him to share what was on his mind. Michonne figured she probably already knew what he was going to say. She could see unease had crept into the bravado he'd shown at the Hilltop and in front of the Alexandrians. She also knew Spencer challenging him like he did, in front of everyone, had gotten to him. At least a little bit._

 _She watched him subtly pull away and turn to lean back against the railing, his full attention now directed towards her. She paused for a moment, deciding whether or not she should take the reins and give him more time to collect his thoughts._

" _Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," Michonne smirked, shifting closer to him in order to lean over and tap her shoulder against his._

" _Yeah, well," Rick began, leaning into her, feeling comfort in their brief contact. "I just wanna make sure we're do the right thing. My decision makin' hasn't exactly been stellar lately."_

 _She chuckled, knowing this was where his mind preferred to wallow. Stuck in a continuous cycle of fearing he would fail those he'd committed to save. She looked at the side of his face, watching as he lowered his head and distractingly played with his hands._

" _You think it's a good idea?" Rick asked, lifting his head to look directly into her eyes. "I reckon I'm not so sure any more. It's a risk. We could lose people. Don't know if I can stand havin' that on my shoulders."_

" _We can always lose people," Michonne replied. "That's just how it is. It's not something you get used to, but it's something you have to expect every time we leave these walls. You know that better than most."_

 _He nodded slowly, wanting her to go on._

" _Taking lives isn't something I relish," she continued. "But if it means putting food on the table for Carl and Judith, if it means a better future for them, then the risk is worth it. All of this is worth it."_

" _But what we have right now," he said, the plea evident in his voice as he waved his arm across their little niche of the world. "All of this around us? I can't lose it again, not any of it."_

" _You won't Rick," Michonne stated, dropping her hand to his knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I won't lose this either."_

 _He nodded and said, "So that's why I've been thinkin' that Spencer might be right. Maybe you should sit this one out."_

" _What the hell does that mean?" Michonne demanded, anger flashing in her eyes._

" _I just– It just–," he stammered, immediately regretting going down this road with her. "It's just that it's gonna be both of us out there. What if something happens to one of us? What about Carl and Judith?"_

 _She stared at him, the moon turning his bright eyes into midnight blue. She'd had briefly thought the same, but pushed the fears down to focus on their mission. To succeed, they would need her. She couldn't let them down._

" _I know what you're saying," she said, looking up at the star-filled sky. "But we're stronger together. We get this done together. We come home together."_

 _An early autumn chill blanketed the air around them, causing each word to turn into small plumes of smoke._

" _It'll be a fight," he said, taking in how the moonlight had become her backlight and made her skin luminescent._

" _Yeah," Michonne replied, turning to look at him. "But we'll beat them right?"_

 _She looked up and exhaled deeply, basking in wonderment of the shapes created by the star-strewn sky. It looked exactly as the sky did before their world changed, confirming her perspective that getting back some of that beauty once again might still be possible._

" _We'll beat 'em," he agreed._

" _You good to head on home?" she finally asked, breaking the silence and rising from her seat._

 _He looked up at her and murmured, "in a minute."_

 _She peered down at him, not sure there was anything else to say. Either way, she knew they'd find a way forward. So, she simply gave him a small smile and walked into her home, shutting the door tightly behind her._

…

 _Rick leaned back onto his elbows, looking up as drifting clouds left eerie shadows against the backdrop of the full moon. It was on nights like this when Rick most reminisced about their time out on the road. About the many late nights he and Michonne had spent huddled together, breaking down barriers to distill the very essence of themselves to the other. Sharing the trajectory of their lives before, plotting their next steps, wondering how they'd keep Carl and Judith safe until they found a permanent home. He had secretly thought about what finding a home with Michonne would be like, but kept it to himself, afraid to hope for much more than food and shelter for his children and the rest of his family._

 _He waited on the porch, hoping that if he stayed out long enough, Jessie would be asleep by the time he returned home. He chuckled ruefully to himself at how sad this all must have looked from the outside. How sad it seemed to even himself._

 _The past two days had been a world-wind. The law of averages had tipped in their direction more quickly than he had time to process. He was plagued by worries that his instincts and judgement, which he was grateful had returned to him, weren't as sharp as they needed to be. But, meeting the cagey Jesus had already reaped rewards he was still trying to assess._

 _It'd been a while since they'd pulled the entire community together on a single objective. Jesus dropping into their lives with promises of more, more of everything, was exactly the type of thing he would have desperately sought her counsel on, welcoming her perspective on the best path forward._

 _But seeing for himself the closeness of her relationship with Spencer had also taken their toll, making him hesitant to ask for too much of her time. Knowing she was with Spencer in that way was one thing, having to witness it was something else completely. There was no hiding it now and watching them required pushing down the bile spawned by his mistakes and accepting that their current state was actually a gift and something he reflectively cherished._

 _It had felt like forever since they'd spent any significant time together. He'd missed it. He'd missed her. His recklessness had led him here, but her obvious happiness, while bittersweet, made him happy as well. She was at peace, and he couldn't complain just because it wasn't with him._

 _The light from the upstairs window went out, jolting him out of his reverie and pitching him into near total darkness, the stars and moon the sole remaining source of illumination. Slowly, he rose from his seat, reaching for the banister to pull himself up. With a contemplative sigh, he made his way down the stairs and finally headed home._

* * *

 _Michonne took the water bottle from Rick's hands and gulped down half of its contents in one go. She was acutely aware of the sweat trickling down her back as she brought her hand up to block her face from the blazing midday sun. Her heart hadn't slowed down since they made their way back through Alexandria's gates. She wasn't certain if it ever would. At least not until they figured out whether or not the raid on the Saviors' outpost had been a win, or rather, another problem they'd inadvertently brought to their own doorsteps._

 _Rick sat next to her. Silent, but she could feel the rage mixed with uncertainty leaching from his pores. She didn't have to look over to know she was berating himself as they sat, exhausted, waiting to reconcile the events of the day with what they'd hope to accomplish with taking out the outpost._

" _I think I fucked up Michonne," Rick mumbled, keeping his head down while nesting his hands behind his head and further flattening his wet curls. "No, I know I fucked up. I lead us down the wrong pa–"_

" _Stop it Rick," she chided, leaning over to cup his chin and bring his eyes to hers. "There is no 'I'. I was in that room too, planning what we did. So was Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Carol and the rest. We were all there. If this is a fuck up, then we all fucked up."_

" _But I wa–," he began._

" _No, you don't get to do this," she interrupted, forcing him to continue looking at her. "Not this time. Maybe we got him. If we didn't, we'll figure it out. We always do."_

" _I don't know," he said, brow furrowed as he tried to attune himself to the optimism in her eyes. "Maggie, we could've lost her. If Carol hadn't, if we… We could've…"_

" _But we didn't," she proclaimed, dropping her hand from his chin and leaning back to stretch her sore back against the porch steps. "Some of us got a little banged up, but that's it. Not for nothing, everyone made it Rick. Everyone's safe."_

" _Yeah," he exhaled tiredly, retrieving the water bottle from beside Michonne and taking a long pull, letting the cool refreshment quench his anxious heart. "I just wanted this to be the start of somethin'. I hoped so anyway."_

" _We all did," she replied softly, absentmindedly taking his hand into hers. "And one way or another, it will be."_

" _How do you know?" he whispered, wanting to steal a bit of her conviction for himself. "We don't know if we actually got this Negan guy. Mighta' just poked the hornet's nest."_

" _I don't know for sure," Michonne replied, shaking her weary head as he reached over to stroke her arm. "But neither do you."_

" _I'm just worried about losin' more than we already have," Rick implored, his eyes frantic as he tried to keep them steadily on her. "What then?"_

" _Losing is still living," she replied, putting her arm around his shoulders. "Isn't that the point? I don't want to lose anymore either, but I'm willing to sacrifice if it means another chance to win for Carl and Judith. Another chance for all of us."_

 _He nodded, dipping his head low to avoid her penetrating stare. She was right. Nothing mattered if they couldn't make the future brighter for Carl and Judith. Whatever had to happen to secure that, he was up for it._

 _He looked back up at her, catching the optimistic look on her face. She was with him. And maybe they could make it to the other side, together._

* * *

"Do you forgive my dad completely?" Carl asked, leaning forward in his chair and resting his forearms on the dining table. " I know how mad you were at him."

"Yeah, I forgave him," she chuckled, the sound breaking up any residual heavy air circulating through the room. "Your dad and I... it's different. It hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it."

"It's not easy with Enid sometimes too," he confessed. "She gets sad and I don't know what to do except just sit with her."

"Carl," she murmured, raising her hand to caress his cheek. "That's _everything_. I'm not saying love has to be hard, but to get to the good stuff, you sometimes have to go through some _stuff_. If you make it to the other side and realize you wouldn't want it any other way, then it's worth it."

She rested her hands over her stomach and continued, "your dad and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot-"

"That's the understatement of the year," Carl retorted, laughing as Michonne slowly rolled her eyes.

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Sorry," Carl said, quickly composing himself.

"Anyway, I think there was _maybe_ always a little something there. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but something that drew me to him. I don't know. I just got him, and he got me. Well, technically, you got me first, but let's keep that our little secret."

"Oh, Dad knows I was your favorite first," Carl teased.

"First and always," she replied, leaning over to nudge him with her elbow. "I don't know where I'd be without the three of you though. He adapted to this world. He adjusted his thinking and I knew he would do anything to keep all of safe. I admire that."

"Did you know it was going to be more?" he asked, reaching over to take a sip from her iced tea.

"I think I did at some level, but with everything going on, I wouldn't let myself go there. As long as _everyone_ we loved was healthy and safe, that was good enough for me. That was more than enough for me."

"But when did you know you loved my dad?" Carl asked, thinking back to the time when it was just the three of them, before they reunited with the rest of their family and got Judith back.

"Hmmmm. That's a tough question. Mike was… he saw the person I maybe wished to be. But your dad? He saw the person I _am_. Mike was my first love, but your dad is my _best_ love."

Carl nodded, wondering if Enid would be both his first and his best. He looked on adoringly at Michonne, thinking about all the things she'd given up, all the things she'd lost to keep him whole, keep him safe. In these moments, the excruciating pain of losing his mom lessens just a bit because he knows he got back in Michonne what he thought he'd lost. He couldn't help wondering if his mom pushed Michonne into their paths just to make sure he wouldn't go long without a mother's love. He liked to think this might be so.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Carl sputtered, examining all they had accomplished that day laid out before him.

She looked at this brave young man. This son who hadn't grow under her heart, but had assuredly sprung from her heart. This beacon of light in a neverendingly dark world.

"She'll love it," she replied softly, keeping at bay the tears she'd felt many times throughout the day, but which now threatened to make themselves known. "Now let's go see what your Dad and Judy-bear are up to with all that fussing out there."

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Michonne pulled him down towards her and landed a kiss on his forehead, delighted in all the special little moments the day had brought them. Her brave young man was growing up and while she was a bit sad knowing he'd one day leave her side to live a life of his own making, her heart couldn't help but overflow with pride.

She thought back to what he'd conveyed that his mom had told him with her dying breath and she too believed it with every fiber of her being. Carl _would_ be the one to win this world and she would clear every obstacle in his path to make it so. Content, she caught his smile as he helped her up from her seat and guided them both through the kitchen and out the backdoor.

* * *

 _An ice-cold shiver ran down her spine, causing her teeth to chatter and her lips to tremble, the thin cloth of her jeans no match for the damp earth on which they knelt. She placed her hands on her thighs, her nails digging into the fabric in an attempt to stop the tremors that raced up and down her arms. Head bowed, Michonne took a sharp, shaky breath, the cooling mist of a late autumn evening turning her exhale into vapor._

 _They'd made a mistake. She'd been tragically wrong and they were all going to pay. Snapping her eyes shut, she willed the tears creeping through to the edges of her eyelashes to stay at bay. It would do no good now. They needed to figure out how to get out of here alive. All of them. She wanted to lean forward to see Rick, figure out how they were going to play this. But doing so felt like too much of a gamble. Drawing attention wouldn't be prudent._

 _Her tears slipped their barrier, the silence broken by desperate sobs surrounding her, intermittently penetrated the clearing on which she and the rest of her family knelt. She shifted her weight onto her right knee, the cold and dankness causing that bullet wound from long ago to ache. A sharp pain stilled her for a moment, the pebbles beneath her knees showing no mercy as they broke through her jeans and punctured her skin._

 _She lifted her head when she noticed the cries had ceased, overtaken by the stillness of the wooded area surrounding them. She scanned as much of the perimeter as she could without turning her head. Michonne's head shot up as the RV's door swung open. Her steady gaze locked onto the leather-clad man standing at the top of the RV's stairs. She watched him tilt back on his heels, surveying the assembled group as a smirk spread across his face._

 _She studied him, noting the delight he took at the sight before him. His nonchalance stirred her anger. It was all a show. Her eyes cast themselves down his body, taking in the barbed wire-wrapped bat he held loosely in his hands. She worked her way back up to his face, the arrogance lighting a fire in her. The leather jacket, the red scarf, all of it. Theater for a world gone mad._

 _He walked down the stairs, pausing on the last step to swivel his head back and forth, seemingly taking in the pitiful sight before him. She watched as he tipped his head up and let out a loud guffaw, the hallow echo rattling the leaves in the trees as his feet landed on the hard earth._

 _He walked towards them with an amplified swagger evident in each leisurely step. The absurdity of his twirling the spiked bat made her furrow her eyebrows. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he walked up and down the line. Her breath hitched as he made his way towards her, lingering directly in front of her. His posturing made her cringe. For a brief moment, their eyes met. She would not cower. She took in his raised eyebrow, then his smug, saccharin smile as he too realized her eyes radiated anger, not fear._

 _He threw his head back, pointing at her and laughing as he said, "I think I'm in love with this one's spirit. I do believe I am."_

 _A few moments of silence commenced as the man walked back down the line, before staking ground in front of Abraham. Michonne turned slightly to her right, watching Abraham's jaw defiantly twitch, before their antagonist chuckled to himself and took a few steps backwards, seeming to enjoy his own performance before their group._

" _So, I hear you guys have been naughty, naughty, naughty," he bellowed, sucking his tongue through his front teeth as he shook his head from side to side. "Not cool. Not cool at all. In fact, if we opened up Webster's Dictionary and looked up 'not cool,' I'm pretty sure what I'm staring at right now would be the illustration."_

 _She tipped her head up, catching him as he once again scanned the group from left to right. They must have looked so filthy and battered to him. Broken, brought to their knees – literally and figuratively – by the superior Saviors. Maybe he'd underestimate them. Maybe they could use that to their advantage._

" _Now, every group has gotta have a leader," he began, spinning the bat by its handle. "El Jefe, The Boss. The Chief. Can't survive these days without one. So, who's the leader of this shit show?"_

 _He turned back to his companion and stated, "Simon, don't tell me! I love figuring this shit out myself! Hmmm. Which one of you motherfuckers decided they needed to get their ass handed back to them by the Saviors? Now, I know his name is Rick, so who here could possibly be Rick?"_

 _Michonne inhaled deeply and turned her head to the right as he moved past her and walked towards Glenn, finally planting his feet right in front of him. She watched as he peered down at the young Asian man, noting how Glenn's eyes, while shiny with tears, never looked down._

 _He slowly walked to his right, winding his bat as he went along. He stopped momentarily to grin down at her once again, before walking to the end of the line, past a defiant Carl, and ending at the whimpering mess that was Eugene. Walking back, her heart stopped as he stopped in front of Rick, resting the bat in the dirt and leaning sideways onto it._

" _It's you, isn't it?" he stated. "You must be Rick. Rick the Prick. Well, hello there! I'm glad to make your acquaintance. I'm super keen about making new friends. I'm Negan, by the way. And it's an abso-fucking-lute honor to finally meet you."_

 _He took a few steps back, centering himself in front of the group. He must be wondering how this ragtag bunch of degenerates had gotten the jump on his men, Michonne thought to herself. His men looked battle-hardened and were clearly well-trained. But they'd been able to get a jump on them. His bluster was still on display, but she could almost see a bit of… maybe begrudging respect._

" _So tell me Rick," he smirked. "Are you and I gonna be friends? Because I certainly hope so. You're gonna want to hope so too. Cuz, you see, I'm not so kind to people who aren't my friends. What do you say buddy? Wanna be my friend?"_

 _Michonne knew Rick wouldn't engage him, at least not yet. Better to wait and see what this madman would reveal of himself before showing their cards._

" _I gotta say, I'm a bit disappointed Rick the Prick," Negan continued. "After doing what you did to my men, I was expecting a much more fucking formidable foe. It's a shitty, shitty feeling to find out you guys aren't that impressive. Hurts my heart even. Makes me wonder if I've actually got the right people handling my shit."_

 _She could sense the air turning more and more ominous. He was getting to the point, but she could tell he'd want them to stew in fear for a while longer. Michonne could practically hear her heart pounding in her ears as she watched Negan look down the line, giving each of them a sinister grin, as if they were disobedient children and he was there to administer their punishment._

" _I confess, I thought about just coming out here and ordering my men to crack each and every one of you open like an egg. But what would I do with a mound of spilled yolks? Make omelets, I guess?"_

 _Unblinkingly, Michonne listened to the hushed whimpers rumbling in the cold air of the clearing in the woods._

" _Yeah. It's a much better proposition for me to just have you work for me. Keep you occupied doing my bidding. That said, you did kill a fucking boatload of my people. And for that reason alone, you're gonna have to pay. I can't just let that type of shit-stain disrespect be. I mean, what kind of leader would that make me?"_

 _A nervous Michonne looked on as Negan turned his attention back to Rick._

" _And to make sure you know I mean business, I'm gonna have to make an example of one of you. Because, you see, Lucille is famished. My girl's hungry! Unfortunately for you, she gets hangry and it's been a mighty long while since she's been able to get a good meal."_

 _Michonne looked on in disgust as he lifted the bat and kissed it, drawing an inadvertently snort from her, which grabbed the psychopath's attention. She watched in horror as Rick, seeing the man make his way back towards her, rose up from his slumped position onto his knees._

" _Well sweetheart," he began, crouching down in front of her. "Do you have something you'd like to share with all of us? It kinda seems like you do. And since you're looking at me with the sexiest death glare I've ever seen, I'd like to know what it is. So, what is it pretty lady?"_

 _He reached down and stroked her cheek with his gloved hand._

" _Don't you touch her!" Rick and Carl yelled in unison._

 _Michonne twisted away from his touch, as Negan jumped up and marched over to Carl, tossing a smirk towards a clenched-fisted Rick as he passed in his wake._

" _Well fuck me sideway with a chainsaw!" Negan exclaimed, glee evident in his voice. "Simon! Would you look at this? Man! I do believe we've got our very first official sighting of balls! Steels balls to be exact!"_

 _Negan turned back towards who appeared to be his right-hand man, Simon, cackling as he tapped the bat's spikes against his gloved hand._

 _"You know what Simon? I think I've got it figured out! So you see, Cyclops here? That's Rick's son."_

 _Turning towards Rick, Negan continued, "yeah Rick, that kid's most definitely yours. I can see the familial death glare from way over here."_

 _Michonne's breath hitched as Rick's low, agitated growl reached her ears. She momentarily closed her eyes, praying he wouldn't say a word._

 _"Now, now, now, don't get all testy," Negan said, pointing the bat in Rick's direction. Cyclops is a compliment! This kid is clearly badass as fuck! Man! You must be one proud Papa!"_

 _Michonne slowly exhaled as Negan continued laughing to himself while miming practice swings with the bat._

 _"Now darlin'," he whispered, walking back towards her and bending down to reach eye-level. "I must confess, I don't exactly see the family resemblance. But you're out here acting like Mama Bear, so I'm assuming you're the Missus. Am I right?"_

 _Michonne glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a single utterance. Keeping his eyes trained on her, Negan gave her a wink, before shouting over to Rick._

 _"Rick? Is this lovely lady your Missus? Cuz if she's not, I wouldn't mind making her mine! No disrespect, but she looks awfully comfy on her knees. I bet she's the ride of a lifetime! Damn Ricky, you're a lucky man! Well, at least you were until today."_

 _Michonne looked with pure hatred into his eyes, her gaze never faltering._

 _"So how about it sweetheart? Will you marry me? Woohoo woman! If looks could kill... Ha! Well, that doesn't really matter now does it?"_

 _He rose up to his feet and pivoted towards Carl._

" _Aw kid, it warms my heart to see mom and dad taking you out on all these adventures! As I always say, the family that slays together..."_

 _Michonne's eyes followed Negan as he took one final stroll in front of the group. Her heart stilled as he stopped abruptly, causing the buzz surrounding the group on their knees to suspend for a moment._

" _Now, enough with the pleasantries," Negan said, spinning away from Rick to swing the bat at Abraham's head._

 _Wails shattered the quiet of the woods as Michonne's soul collapsed onto itself and her guttural cries pierced through Rick and Carl like a knife._

* * *

 **A/N** : For those still on this journey with me, thank you! I've promised myself to wrap up this story by the end of August, so there you go. Gauntlet dropped. Feel free to come for me if I don't.

As always, thanks for reading!


	13. All I Need

Rick couldn't help smiling to himself as he scooted the stool, the one he'd purposefully dragged from Carl and Judith's bathroom, closer to the tub so he could sit with Michonne while she bathed. Judith hated when _her_ things were touched and she'd be upset to know he'd used her 'brush-teef' stool for other purposes. This would be their little secret.

Carl had been happy to help him orchestrate a hoaxtrip to the Hilltop. The young man was easily lured by the possibility of extra time spent with Enid; Judith by the excitement of finally getting a playdate with Herschie she'd long since been promised. And Rick got what he wanted: an occasion to pamper his love in the way she desired, but would not have allowed herself to enjoy with the kids around.

Rick had assumed getting her to accept an entire day dedicated to herself would be a battle. To both Carl's and Rick's relief, Michonne had relented when Judith, extremely clingy as of late, opted to make today _the_ day to fully exhibit her independence. So with the kids accounted for, he turned his focus to providing Michonne whatever comforts were within his power.

He rose up slightly from the stool and leaned in for a kiss, dipping his fingers into the lukewarm water and trailing them down the smooth, supple skin of her arms. Pleased, he sat back down, captivated by the low hum of contentment emanating from her lips. He looked on as the stress lines on her forehead gradually dissipated.

"You feelin' alright sweetheart?" Rick drawled, a lop-sided grin playing across his lips as his eyes locked with hers. "You _sure_ you don't want it any hotter?"

"Uh uh," she murmured, tilting her head back onto the edge of the claw-footed tub and letting her eyes roll back and gently close. "It's _perfect_. Feels like a damn dream right now! Mmmmm… it's sooooo nice."

Michonne had already proven that many times over that she could handle anything. But as the baby's birth date drew near, Rick could practically feel her body slowly reaching its upper limit. Things she'd never complained about before – persistent headaches and feeling relentlessly hot – became common topics of conversation. Even walking seemed to have become an actual chore.

They'd spent most of the day in bed, where he'd brought her breakfast and snacks and laid with her to talk about the many plans for their future. Anything to take her mind off her growing discomfort and make the tail-end of her pregnancy a bit more tolerable.

As the late afternoon sun receded from their bedroom window, Rick snuck into the bathroom to prepare a special treat for her. Running the tap, he dispensed lavender oil into the tub as it filled with warm water. Eugene had assured him the combination was a 'sure-fire elixir for easing the crazy, opening the pathways to dreamland, and stopping the itchiness of her ginormous baby bump.'

The man was beyond odd, but Eugene was also rarely wrong as far as Rick was concerned. So, he deliberately added a few extra drops of the fragrant oil into the quickly filling bathtub. Noting the calming aroma filling the air, he inhaled deeply, pleased with the mood he could already feel in the air.

He reached across the tub to dim its overhead chandelier. While he couldn't have conceived of a world where such an opulent light fixture would have _ever_ been necessary, Michonne had assured him it had been 'all the rage' in the old world and one of the reasons she'd chosen the sunny cottage as her home after leaving house she she'd shared with Spencer.

He pulled out Carl's CD player from beneath the bathroom sink where he'd asked Carl to hide it the previous evening. Lately, Michonne had taken to absentmindedly humming a particular tune, especially when organizing the various baby items Alexandria's run teams had accumulated over the past several months.

Finally, he placed a few candles on the bathroom countertop, quickly lighting them before turning off the bathroom's harsh overhead light. The player now perched on the edge of the sink, he took stock of the room, clasping his hands together in satisfaction as an ambience of warmth and calm enveloped the space.

But much to Rick's consternation, Michonne had been reluctant to leave their bedroom. Pulling her out of bed and into the bathroom when she was feeling 'like a beached whale' hadn't gone as smoothly as he had hoped. But pull he did, coaxing her up, then practically dragging her to the tub, before helping settle her into bath. He couldn't help but to smile at the deep sigh she'd practically purred when finally had her nestled in the warm water.

He glanced around the room, taking in the small gifts surrounding them, unimaginable a only a few years ago. Hot water, food enough to fill not only his belly, but his soul. Happy, healthy children. And the thought that there would be more. He vowed to do anything to make it so.

He chuckled at his good fortune, his gaze finding its way back to her, mesmerized by how the soft light from the chandelier cast her shadow against the white tiles framing the room. He inhaled deeply, praying for time to stand still, just for a moment, but recognizing his plea would go unanswered. Instead, he strived to absorb all the goodness moments like this gave to him.

"What's so funny?" she asked, too cozy to bother opening her eyes, yet still able to gauge his mood with them closed.

"I was just thinkin'," he began, grinning at her as she scrunched her nose and waited for him to continue. "If _any_ of this is a dream, don't ever wake me up."

"Ditto," she whispered, her eyes slowly opening to wistfully look into his.

Rick studied her face, noticing a small flash of melancholy momentarily obscured her features. He knew what she was feeling. It felt like a dream to him too. One that would be overtaken by the nightmare the world had become.

It was hard to comprehend that despite all they had lost, they'd also gained so much too. Sometimes, it all felt too good to be true and both awaited the dropping of the other shoe. Hopeful it wouldn't happen, but resigned to the fact that sadness and cruelty was always just around the corner.

"I been thinkin'," he began, his eyes capturing hers once again as he reached for her hand.

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" she teased, watching as his smile widen and those crinkles she so adored spread to the corners of his eyes.

"Just that… I don't know, I guess. It's hard for me to believe this is _all_ mine and someone's not going come by and take it away."

"Well, if they _tried_ , they'd have to deal with me. And what do we always say about not messin' with pregnant ladies?"

"Not _our_ pregnant ladies," he laughed, his thumb tracing a calming pattern across the knuckles of her right hand. "I guess I didn't think it'd be possible to be this happy again. You've made me so happy."

"Me too."

Her head against the tub's rim, she lifted her left hand out of the water, resting it on the pronounced belly even a nearly full tub could not hide. She felt Rick's hand join hers as the small taps from the inside became more purposeful kicks, leading both of them to laugh out loud.

"All these stupid false alarm got me too excited. Our girl doesn't seem quite ready to make her appearance. _Now_ she decides to cause a ruckus. I think she's getting a little too comfy in there."

"Well, Dr. Soroyan said it'd be anytime now," he said, voice wobbling at the very thought finally getting to hold the baby in his arms. "I reckon she'll come when she's ready."

"Funny how I don't really remember this part of the process," Michonne giggled, placing her wet hand on Rick's arm for leverage as she leaned back further into the tub. "Andre came pretty fast. I just remember this sense of calm washing over me towards the end. I don't remember all these weird little aches and pains."

"I think that's how it's s'possed to be," Rick said. "Maybe so you don't question havin' another one."

"I just want to meet her… and pretty much over being pregnant."

"I can't wait to meet her either," he said, leaning over to drop a kiss on her pillow-soft lips.

He palmed the back of her neck, pulling her forward as he dropped from the stool to kneel on the mat beside the tub. She drew him close still, his rolled-up sleeves sinking into the water as he wrapped his arms around her. With one last lingering, sweet kiss, he sat back on his heels and took her in, catching how the candlelight framed the droplets of water clinging to her long dark lashes.

She squealed suddenly, taking him by surprise as her eyes darted to the player as it clicked into the next song. Smiling, she leaned back once more and closed her eyes.

"Oh Rick, this is so perfect," she cooed, joy flowing from her and into Rick as she held him spellbound. "This. Is. My. Jam."

He watched her face relax as the smooth, easy melody bounced across the white surfaces of the room. He smiled, taking in all of her. She consumed him. Her body soft, open, abound with new life. Her lips parted as she quietly sang along with the track.

 _Through drought and famine, natural disasters  
My baby has been around for me  
Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling  
None of that could ever make me leave  
Every time I look into your eyes I see it  
You're all I need_

While her voice filled the room, he pondered all the pivotal moments that had inevitably brought them together. Every part of the maze, no matter which path he chose to take, led him back to her. Michonne finding the prison and ultimately saving Carl and himself. Terminus. Washington. Alexandria. Taking the outpost. Defeating the Saviors. Mike. Lori. All led them to each other.

The CD skipped, the song's last line sputtering in an infinite loop, it's meaning seeping into his consciousness. He wouldn't allow his eyes to leave her. The unadulterated happiness on her face, her gentle, hypnotic voice, her delicate smile beaming up at him, more brightly than any sunset he'd ever seen nor could imagine. She would be all he ever needed. Of that, he was sure.

* * *

 _Rick howled in agony, knees buckling and giving way, as he stumbled down the stairs of the RV and landed on the cold, hard ground of the clearing. Head bowed and in shock, visions of Glenn's and Abraham's murder played in his mind like a twisted nightmare. He lifted his head slowing, blank blue eyes keying in on the sun's early arrival. He gazed down onto the sparse patch of earth eerily illuminated as light streamed down on him through the trees._

 _The only discernible sound was that of birds chirping in the background, the incongruity of such a mundane observation tricking his mind into thinking perhaps he had been dreaming. He dug his fingers into the firm dirt beneath him, clawing at the short blades of grass and. All of it seemed so wrong, so out of place, as the stench of death and decay clung to and coated his nose._

 _The thought of going on after this. After Glenn, his second friend in this world. The young man he'd watched grow into his own. The force who continuously called out to his better angels, forcing him to be better. To do better._

 _Or Abraham, his unexpected lieutenant. The crass, overbearing, man who'd fought hard, fought valiantly at his side. The kindred spirit who'd encouraged him to live this life as fully as he'd lived the previous._

 _Brothers to replace the one he'd lost in the old world, now lost to him as well. The stillness distorted his thoughts, making it harder for him to process all he had witnessed. He'd failed his family, once again, allowing others to die for his sins. His actions had been rash, foolhardy._

 _The thought of having to look Maggie in the face, look any of them in the face was unimaginable. Shaking the imagine from his thoughts, he quietly raised his eyes, instantly meeting Michonne's tear drenched face as he looked over to his family, still on their knees, still stunned into silence._

 _Michonne signaled to him, but he couldn't decipher what she wanted to convey to him, his mind too numb to make their usual connection. He paused for a second, and then he understood._

 _He could her Negan's bellows, the arrogant laugh seemingly shaking the leaves free from tree branches. The ugliness, the brutality, the depravity in this world. All rolled up into this detestable man. This man who could see the terror in the eyes of another and not think twice about snuffing it out._

 _He chastised himself for his overconfidence. For underestimating Negan. Men like him thrived in this type of world. They always had and always would. His role was to counteract this. While their brutality may have the same effect, their reasons were not the same. Negan had been wrong. They were not the same._

 _As the chill crept up his legs and seeped into his bones, a fire was stoked in his belly. Justice was ignited, not vengeance. He'd erred, arrogantly flown too close to the sun. And for now, he'd let things stay as they were. Get them out of here, go back and lick their wounds, then regroup and fight._

 _Negan had gotten him wrong. He wasn't weak. He couldn't be broken, not easily anyway. He had too much to lose to not quest for more. He'd meant everything he'd said. He would fight or die trying. In the end, Negan most certainly would be dead._

…

 _She languished in the salty sting of her own tears, watching this… this monster try to bring Rick low. Slowly uncover all of his fears, expose his insecurities for those who loved him best to see. Perhaps Negan was seeking a change in tide. The hurried abandonment of a sinking ship. This horrific man did not know Rick. He did not know them. Negan couldn't possibly have seen, have known that in order to truly break Rick, he'd have to first crush them all._

 _Pain rippled through her spine, caused by the wrenching of her neck as they held her down to cut her locs, persisted. But her physical pain had ceased the moment she watched him tumble down the RV's steps. She'd been bewildered at first. The mental exercise of recalibrating their decisions and recognizing that they'd been wrong and would have to pay in blood for their blunder._

 _Fear had momentarily griped her. The toxic stench of bile drifted up and into her throat as she watched this man, this terror try to take what was hers. The taunting the self-aggrandizing, the glib torture that seemed to leave not a speck of conscience in its wake. What would she do if Negan tried to harm Carl or Rick. She'd be grossly unprepared, but would not be able to sit idle if either was threatened._

 _The anger was sharp, its spiked edges lighting her nerves and making her arms tingle. She'd had to force it down, control her breathing, ensure her mind was clear enough to prevent a fool's errand that could take them all down._

 _She was angry, ready to kill every last one of the Saviors surrounding them. But she knew better. Stupid gets you killed and they'd already lost too much that day. So she stooped and took the snide comments Negan roared down at her. The disgusted shiver that set her body cold as he pulled over his glove and leaned down to clasp the remainder of the locs they'd cut from her hair._

 _Resolve was what lingered in the end. She took deliberate risks, was methodical, and worked every angle until she found the right fit. This would be no different. Today would not be the day to fight. She knew that now. They were weakened and in disarray. But if they were to re-imagine this world, it would not be at the hands of men like Negan. He would have to be stopped. They would be patience and bide their time. T_ _hey would regroup, rebuild and grow strong. Only then, would they fight._

 _She waited for Rick to raise his head, to seek her out like she knew he would. Their eyes locked for just a second; even a focused observer would have missed it. She saw first his confusion, then his recognition._

…

 _He pleaded with Rick as cold pebbles pressed harshly into his cheek, nearly breaking through skin._

" _Just do it," Carl implored._

 _If it meant saving the rest of them from Negan's terror, losing an arm meant nothing to a kid who'd already lost so much. Whatever it took to get them out of this, he was willing to endure._

 _He closed his eye, the anguish in his Rick's eyes proving too much to bear. He thought of what it would feel like. The blunt blade of the axe hacking into flesh and bone. He remembered the pain of losing his eye. The gnawing pang and piercing spasms unpredictably shooting through his brain. The nausea and blurred vision that still plagued him when he was overly tired. Perhaps a lost arm wouldn't be so bad._

 _He thought of Judith. Who would take care of her if all three of them didn't make it back. The idea brought his stoicism to the brink of tears. Swallowing them back, he opened his eye and stared right into is father's._

 _"Do it dad," he rasped, noting the recognition finally sweeping across his father's face. "Please."_

 _Rick gave him a small nod before lifting the axe. The air stilled as snippets of their past life sped through Carl's mind. When he was 8, he'd fallen out of a tree trying to rescue his neighbor's cat that had chased a squirrel up a tree and was too frightened to make its way back down._

 _His arm slanted in an unnatural position, it had hurt so badly that Rick had had to hold a shaking Carl in the backseat while Shane frantically drove them to the emergency room in their police cruiser. He remembered thinking how odd it was that his father seemed to feel the pain as acutely as if it were his own. It still awed him._

 _But as quickly as it had started, it was over. Rick hefted the axe, then Negan leaned down to stop his motion, his staccato laughter breaking like glass against Carl's ears. Carl and Rick looked at each other, stunned at the turn of events. An odd heaviness permeated the air between them. Rick had been prepared to harm his son, the person he'd readily and gladly give his own life. How close he'd come was jarring to both of them._

 _Carl hated Negan. He was no different than the Claimers or the Governor or Gareth. Cruel men whom this world had only given license to deepen the levels of degradation to which they were willing to descend. But he knew is father. He knew Michonne. Today, they would carry their wounded home and bury their dead. Tomorrow, they would prepare to fight._

…

 _The disbelief was still there, but the ramifications had slowly begun to infiltrate his thoughts. This had been his fault and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive himself._

" _Rick," Michonne began, threading her fingers through his as they sat shoulder to shoulder towards the back of the RV. "I need you to lis–"_

" _Nah, this is on me," he interrupted, keeping his hand in hers, but moving his shoulder slightly away from hers._

" _No, it's not," Michonne said, each word clipped and carefully articulated. She wasn't going to let him do this. Not again._

" _We all decided to take them on, including Abraham and Glenn. All of us did this. It's not your burden to bare alone. Not this time."_

 _Rick watched as Michonne quickly dried her tears with the back of her hand. With Aaron at the helm, the RV was headed back to Alexandria; sullen air circulating through the vehicle and nearly choking all of them. They would return not as victors. Not now._

 _He looked down at Michonne's lap, where Carl's head lay as she ran her fingers through his dark tresses, pulling them off his forehead so she could peer down at his face. Rick watched his son tremble, turbulence winning the war in a fitful sleep. The image brought him back to that night with the Claimers, its memory shepherding more tears and drawing them down his cheeks. Having both Carl and Michonne so close to him now, just like then, made hi, realize there was no limit to what he'd willingly do, willingly give up, to ensure their safety._

" _The entire time we were there, I kept running through all these scenarios," she began, breaking the silence and leaning her head against his shoulder. "Just trying to figure a way out for us."_

" _I'm not sure I see it," Rick began, turning to catch her eye. "If he was able to do what he did, how do we win? I know you wanna fight, but now's not the time. We need a minute to figure stuff out."_

" _Rick," she sighed, lifting her head from his shoulder. "I know we need to regroup, but Glenn and Abraham are gone, I don't–"_

" _You think I don't know that?" Rick interjected, his voice more severe than he intended. "Glenn saved my life. I would have given my life for his. And Maggie? Now Maggie…"_

 _Michonne clasped his hand as he slumped forward, waves of regret driving shudders through his body._

" _What'll I tell her Michonne? If we do this, we gotta do it right. We can't afford any mistakes. Not again."_

" _I know that," she replied. "We'll be smart about it."_

 _He leaned back, looking across at a shell-shocked Eugene and scowling Rosita. He'd expected her to join Sasha and Maggie at the Hilltop to bury Glenn and Abraham, but she'd opted to return to Alexandria with the rest of their crew._

 _And Daryl, his brother was just… gone. They'd all gotten a bitter taste of Negan's depraved brutality. The thought of one of their own being subject to it while they stood idle turned his blood to ice. Daryl was strong, resilient. He knew he'd willingly endure whatever he believed would keep them safe. Rick didn't want this for him. They'd have to take their time and find allies, but he had no intention of remaining under Negan's rule._

…

" _Rick," she said, gently squeezing his hand as she rose, pulling him up with her. "We're home."_

 _He looked around, noting the rest had already exited the vehicle and only Michonne and a groggy Carl remained. He watched her walk down the RV's stairs, her arms wrapped protectively around Carl. Rick wanted to grab onto both of them, hold them close. But he stayed back, giving Carl time to receive all he needed from Michonne._

 _But she turned to shine comfort in his path as well, waiting for him to reach the ground before drawing him near. The three stood arm in arm, the weight of the quiet a balm for the horror they'd witnessed. His glassy eyes. Caught hers. She'd done it again. She'd seen them slipping and thrown rocks in the path to prevent them from getting too far away from each other._

…

 _An uncanny hush fell over them as they congregated outside the armory. If Rick listened close enough, he could hear bits and pieces of whispered conversations floating around him._

 _Carl murmured words of comfort to a weepy Judith, desperately clinging to him. The intermittent click of Aaron's camera interrupted thought as he went about fulfilling Rick's request to take photos of their inventory in preparation for the Saviors' first pick-up. Above the din, Rick separated out Michonne's soft cries, watching her weep on Spencer's shoulder. He could only look on as he watched him lift her off her feet and cleave her to his chest. She went willingly, her body sinking into his as she collapsed into his embrace._

 _Rick stayed back, giving them this moment. Dipping his head, he snuck a peek at her, at them, through downward-cast lashes. He couldn't help himself. Knowing he'd already taken enough, too much from her and wanting her to get something back, whatever it was she needed. Even if it wasn't from him._

…

" _Why are you telling me this?" Michonne asked, leaning against the Monroe house's porch railing as Jessie peered up at her from the base of the stairs._

" _Because…" Jessie slowly began, pausing to run a hand through her tangled sandy hair. "He won't talk to me. I know he's suffering, but he won't let me help and… I just don't know what else to do."_

" _I'm not sure I can do any better," Michonne sighed, walking down the steps to meet the frazzled woman at the bottom._

 _As Michonne's gaze proved too steady, Jessie looked down at a small crack in the concrete beneath her feet. The two had done little more than nod 'hello' since Ron's death. It had been weeks since the painful, yet ultimately cathartic conversation Michonne had initiated to lay out Ron's death and Carl's catastrophic injury. She'd stopped Jessie just outside the steps of the home she herself had once shared with Rick and his children. In her heart, she knew she'd done what needed to be done to save Carl. She held no remorse in her heart over choosing Carl's life. But watching another mother lose a child was not something to relished. Her own truth had shown her this was an injury for which full recovery would be impossible._

 _Somehow, mother to mother, not much had been necessary to say. Just a few simple words of contrition, followed by continued acts of forgiveness. It had been messy, but they'd found a way to co-exist. There was no other choice. They navigated the awkwardness, each skirting each other's realm to allow the other space, room to breathe. Until now, neither willing to broach the topic of the man they, from all outwards signs, shared._

 _Although Negan's reign had brought all Alexandrian's together around a united purpose, it had not done much to remedy the uncomfortable air surrounding interactions between Michonne and Jessie. Luckily, most encounters were buffered by either Rick or Spencer, but run-ins were inevitable. Michonne didn't welcome them, but had come to consider Jessie a contributing member of the community and one she'd willingly defend._

" _Rick's someone that sometimes just needs to go through it, to get through it," Michonne said, knowing that it was only in the eyes of an outsider that Rick would appear to have seemingly given in, given up. "He'll be fine."_

" _I'm not sure anymore," Jessie sighed, shaking her head as the toe of her shoe tapped against the peeling paint on the first step. "He's hurting and I'm just not equip to help him. He won't talk to me about he's thinking, what he's planning to do. I know it's something, but he's keeping it all inside and I– I'm worried."_

 _Of course Michonne knew what Rick was up to, but they'd agreed to keep it between the two of them. It wasn't her job to share with Jessie if Rick hadn't done so himself. And while she somewhat agreed with holding off on sharing the more indelicate details with those outside their inner circle just yet, she harbored a certain level of guilt over the fact that Spencer was privy to key elements of the plan while Jessie was not. Rick had disagreed with telling Spencer so much, but she'd felt it necessary in order to avoid the tension and continued confrontations between the two men._

 _She looked into Jessie's hopeful eyes. This woman loved Rick, cared about his children. But Michonne knew deep down that Rick would never give Jessie his heart. Not really. He'd try, she knew he would. That's how he was built and one of the reasons he meant so much to her. His guilt and sense of honor wouldn't let him behave any other way._

 _But he'd never give himself over to this woman completely. Not when he still looked at Michonne the way he did. She'd pushed it to the recesses of her mind, directing her attention to getting them prepared for combat. But it never really went away. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when sleep would not come, she questioned her role in all of this. Maybe if she let Rick go a bit more, not allow him so close to her again, he could move on with this woman. It would certainly make Spencer happy too. But for reasons she wasn't prepared to analyze, she didn't think she could. So, she simply nodded and said,_

" _I'll talk to him."_

…

" _You doing okay?" she asked._

 _Rick lifted his head, staring up at her as she stood in the doorway of the cold, dank prison cell. He turned, head cocked to the side._

" _I'm alright. You?"_

" _I told you Spencer knows most of the plan right?" she asked, walking towards him as he rose to his feet. "I know you think he's 'not us,' but, he trusts me. And I trust you. We're good."_

" _Well, what's done is done," Rick stated, stepping over the charts strewn across the dusty floor to move closer to her. "I don't necessarily agree, but nothing I can do about it now. You really think he won't get in the way?"_

 _She shook her head, joining him in the center of the room._

" _He knows we can't really live if we let Negan get away with this. I told him we all stand, we all fight. He's with us."_

" _Alright then," Rick nodded, pointing down to the plans at their feet. "Now that we got the Kingdom and Oceanside, we're ready to get started on the first part. What we need to do first is–"_

" _What have you been telling Jessie?" Michonne interrupted, her hand reaching for his arm, stilling it._

 _Rick looked at her, confusion in his eyes._

" _What do you mean? I haven't told her anythin'."_

" _That's a problem Rick," Michonne sighed, reaching over to hold up his chin as he tried to drop his eyes. "She lives with you. She helps with Carl and Judith. You've got to tell her something."_

" _I don't want her to worry," he muttered, easing out of her grip and dropping his head. "'Sides, nothin' she can do about it anyway."_

" _That's not fair Rick. She's out there learning, training, just like the rest of them. She's trying to get strong enough to protect this place too."_

" _That's not what I meant," Rick said, lifting his eyes to meet hers once again. "I mean part of plannin' this. She's not ever gonna be ready to do what needs to be done outside these walls. I see her tryin' and I'm proud of her. She's startin' to hold her own. But this? What we have to do? This is on us. We run this."_

" _You know, when we came back and you didn't want to fight right away, when you wanted to wait and bide or time, I was really angry at you," she began, ignoring his statement for the moment._

 _Rick tipped his head to the side, drawn by the how the sudden seriousness of her tone couldn't blot out the softness in her eyes as she looked at him. It crossed his mind that it had taken calamity to bring back their closeness. He'd missed this so much._

" _I know you knew I started going out there, started doing target practice and figuring out how to sharpen my skills._ _It started to feel like when I was out there trying to find the Governor. It felt so lonely. I couldn't do it by myself. I knew we'd only beat him if you and I did it together._ _"_

" _Yeah," Rick said, chuckling softly. "You're never exactly good at hidin' from me. I knew you were mad."_

" _I guess not," she agreed, her eyes momentarily finding to the floor. "I realized quickly they were too big to handle alone. We needed allies, lots of them. How they trapped us should have given me a clue, but I had to see for myself."_

 _Rick's eyes never wavered, glued to hers as she spoke her peace through misting eyes._

" _It finally hit me that I didn't want to do this my way. I didn't want to do it alone. I wanted it to be you and me figuring this out. You and I are still standing, still fighting the good fight. I probably should have died 10 times by now, you too. But we're still here. And Glenn and Abraham aren't. And neither is Herschel or Beth or Andrea or Noah or Bob or Mike or Andre or Lori…"_

" _You're not worried about losing?" Rick asked, eyes drifting to the cinderblock walls behind her. "I've been wondering if fightin'll be worth what it'll cost us, 'cause there's no way it won't cost us somethin'."_

" _Rick," she began, laboring to keep her voice steady. "When I kept going out there and chasing the Governor. It wasn't because I didn't know you were concerned about me being out there alone. I knew."_

 _She paused, eyes leaving his bent head to scan the damp, chilly room. Turning back towards him, she reached out to take his hand and pull him towards her, forcing him to meet her eyes once more._

" _But we're here now. We want to build a life here. You know we're doing the right thing. We can't do that with Negan's boot on our necks. I can't do that."_

" _I can't lose anyone else," he mumbled, comforted by the acknowledgement in her eyes. "But I can't live like this either. I won't have this life for Carl or Judith. For you…"_

" _We're the ones who live, that's what you said," she declared, emphasizing her point by pushing her fingertip into his chest. "We're the ones that fight for the future and for those who aren't here to fight themselves. We do it for them, but we do it for us too. We'll beat them. We can do this, but only if it's both of us, you and me."_

 _Rick nodded, drawing her close. He felt the tremor in her arms as he wrapped his around her. She dipped her head and cried into his shoulder. He held her until her tears subsided._

" _There is no life if it's a life under Negan," he whispered into her hair. "That's not what I want for Carl or Judith or Glenn and Maggie's baby. That's not what I want for you. Fighting is living. And if I don't make it, you're the one who'll have to lead 'em. I know you can. I get that now."_

" _How?" she asked, pulling back to looking into his eyes through the dim bulb hanging over the entrance._

" _Because, you led me here."_

…

 _Maggie was the one chosen to bring forth Negan's demise. Negan had taken from all of the them, but he'd stolen their hearts when he murdered Glenn. The young widow acted without hesitation, but also without malice. It had no place in her heart if she was to raise her sweet boy in a way that would make his father proud._

 _But retribution was a necessity to ensure social order. This was not only to avenge Glenn, Abraham, and the countless more that had died at the hands of the Saviors, but to set forth the principles and beliefs that would lead society forward. No tender mercies could have saved Negan that day. The world would do without him just fine._

 _Michonne watched as Maggie stood over him. His body bloodied and battered, the smug, self-absorbed smirk finally wiped from his face. While it may have been satisfying to witness, as she had predicted, he didn't beg. It wasn't his nature to show his cards, even in defeat._

 _So he turned his head, spitting streaks of foamy pink phlegm into the red dirt on the side of the road where she, Maggie, Daryl, and Rick had cornered him. She witnessed his final gasps without regret. And when it was all over, her blade drove through his skull._

 _They gave themselves to time to mourn. The war had brought more death to their door. Sasha, Eric, along with other Alexandrians and many allies from the Hilltop, Kingdom, and Oceanside._

 _Steadily, they rebuilt Alexandria. They fortified and expanded the walls. They restored damaged homes using parts from those beyond repair. repair They constructed pens for livestock and stocked the pond._

 _Rick settled into a quiet, albeit longing existence with Jessie; Michonne and Spencer grew closer, his forgiveness of her secrets complete. Spencer begrudgingly accepted Rick's presence in their lives because a happy Michonne involved Carl, Judith… and Rick. They would wonder when the other shoe would drop. When the sweet bliss of peace and happiness would be upended the tragedies this world seemed to have in abundance. Until then, they would just live._

* * *

This feels like summer  
Boy you make me feel so alive  
Just be my lover  
Boy, you'll lead me to paradise

Rick placed his elbows on the side of the tub, engrossed by his view. He'd turned the player off, but Michonne had continued singing, not missing a beat as the melody ceased and only her voice filled the room with a warm, homey glow. He smiled, her delicate crooning lulling the air itself into a utterly satisfied state.

"Now, if I recall correctly," he stated, pausing as a smirk crested her lips. "Dr. Soroyan _did_ mention a way for us to help her along…"

"Yeah, I remember what he said," Michonne giggled, opening her eyes to a grinning Rick. "What do you have in mind?"

He chuckled, the twinkle in her eyes matching his own. He rolled up his damp sleeves and slipped his right hand into the tepid water. He looked down, watching goosebumps break out across her chest as his fingertips flitted over her nipples, nearly rocketing her up out of the water.

"Easy cowboy," she murmured, her hands gripping the sides of the tub. "The girls are _awfully_ sensitive at the moment."

"Oh, I _know_ they are," he retorted, using his palm to cup her breast, his fingers brought one nipple, then the other to rigid peaks. "Just doin' my husbandly duty like Dr. Soroyan had suggested."

"Husbandly duty?" she sighed, easing away from his touch as her entire body pulsated. "I think I kinda like the sound of that."

He watched her stiffen and roll her eyes as his hands drifted downwards to palm the swell of her belly. He reached down to drop a kiss on her ticklish belly button, causing more aroused sighs from Michonne as her body answered his feather-light touches.

He cupped his hand, slipping it into the tub to fill with water, before lifting it back up to pour over her breasts. He was riveted as the droplets beaded, then slowly trickled down the steep slope of her belly and back into the tub.

Her low hums filled his head as he sensed tremors flutter across her pebbled flesh. Slowly, he slid his hand down the front of her belly and completely out of her view. She shivered as his hand landed on the soft, sparse hairs of her mound. He stilled himself, patiently waiting for her breathing to even out and her legs to stop their movement.

When she'd calmed down and leaned her head back against the tub's ledge, he parted her folders with his thumb and index finger, pausing for a moment to flick her bud with his middle finger. He slowly, assuredly, began tapping it with the same finger. Her response was instantaneous. The low throb that had begun at her core began to radiate outwards. Her skin tingled, the rapidly cooling water accelerating her tremors. Her hands began to tingle and ache as she desperately held onto the sides of the tub.

He stilled his fingers, drawing a tortured groan from Michonne. The only other audible sound in the room became their synchronized breathing. He could practically see the rapid beating of her heart through her skin.

"Please," she begged, rising partially out of the water, insisting on reconnecting his fingers with her core. "Make me feel good."

He could never deny her anything. And so, he allowed the tip of his middle finger to graze her bud once more, holding still as she ground into his palm. His taps turned to flicks, which evolved into steady, yet firm strokes that saw her pink center peek out from its hood as her mound broke above the tub's waterline.

Soaked to his sleeves, he eased his arm under the water to grip her waist, holding her lower half above the water as her legs shock, the nearness of her release evident. Rick's stroke was steady, deliberate, as he coaxed her climax from its depths. Her breathing grew shallow as her body turned instinctively towards his. She cried out his name.

He held on tight as she rode a rippling wave of ecstasy. As her breathing evened out, he rose from the stool, gently pulling her up with him. Tenderly, he helped her stand on unsteady legs, before lifting her out of the tub. Landing on the fluffy floor mat, he wrapped a large towel around her and began drying every inch of her body. Once satisfied, he smooth a few drops of the scented oil over her belly, before wrapping her in a favorite robe and leading her back to their bedroom.

He laid down with her, face to face, a protective hand cupping her belly. Her eyes flickered, then closed as light snoring signaled her fall into slumber. Rick stayed awake, his mind clouded with thoughts of the baby and prayers for her safe delivery. Since sleep couldn't find him, he just watched Michonne, sleeping on her side, her soft snores periodically interrupted by the baby's movements, which could be seen even through the light blanket he'd wrapped around her.

He gently rubbed her belly, the slow movements eventually rocking him to sleep. Before he drifted off, thoughts of a joyful future with Michonne, Carl, Judith, and the new baby peppered his mind. It was a reality that not so long ago, he would have refused to allow himself to believe was possible. He smiled. It _was_ possible. All of it.

* * *

"C'mon Judy-bear," Michonne whispered, snuggling her sweet girl against her chest. "It's _finally_ just us girls."

"Yay!" Judith cheered, unsure of why they were celebrating but always eager to spend time with the woman she loved so much.

Carl, having just arrived back that morning with Judith, had been roped into helping Rick re-enforce lookout points covering Alexandria's newly expanded areas. Rick had claimed it needed to be done immediately because he felt "today's gonna be a special day." He gave both of his girls a kiss and rubbed Michonne's belly before dragging a grumbling Carl out the front door.

They'd only been gone 30 minutes when Michonne began feeling long forgotten, yet still familiar nagging pressure in her back. It started as a twinge, but after 15 minutes of the pressure moving up and down her spine, she began to suspect that the long-awaited appearance of her baby girl might actually be that day, like Rick had predicted.

Not wanting to alarm Judith, who was obliviously babbling about one thing or another as she insistently fed herself lunch, Michonne braced herself against the center island. She rested a shaky hand on her stomach as she took in a sharp breath. She looked over to Judith, now singing to herself as she filled up on homemade applesauce.

She gasped as a shock of pain ripped through her. The noise alerted Judith, who stopped her spoon mid-flight and turned a curious eye towards Michonne. It had been a while since Andre, but the throbbing sensation brought her back to those moments before welcoming him into the world. She swallowed down the fear as soon as she caught sight of Judith's furrowed little brows.

"Baby ok Mama?" Judith asked, fingers pointing towards Michonne's belly.

Michonne's breath hitched. Judith had decided that since her buddy Herschie called the woman who gave the best hugs Mama, she figured it made sense to do the same. The first time she did it that morning, it had nearly brought Michonne to her knees. Now, the pain prevented a smile, but her heart still soared.

"Baby ok," Michonne answered, willing a smile to replace what she imagined to be a frightening grimace. "C'mon Judy-bear. Let's go get daddy."

…

Before Michonne and Judith could even pick up the prepared bags and head out, Rick and Carl burst through the front door. Strangely, it had been Carl's six sense that had brought them back home. He carried Judith and followed behind as Rick helped Michonne to the infirmary, where Dr. Soroyan immediately guided her back to the infirmary's private quarters.

…

Rick left Michonne's side and returned to the front room to try to cajole an irritable Judith into going back home with Carl. He tried to whisper, but Michonne could still hear his attempts at preventing a Judith meltdown. They'd been there for most of the afternoon and the sun had long since bid the day goodbye. Judith wearily refused to be taken back home with Carl to sleep without getting one more glimpse of Michonne, even though she'd spent the better part of the afternoon laying by her side.

"Now darlin'," Rick began, his pacifying voice reaching Michonne's ears through the closed door. "You know Mama's resting right? The baby's comin' and she's real tired. I promise, you can see her in the mornin'."

"But I wanna now!" she protested, fat droplets skimming past her long lashes and landing on her reddening cheeks. "I wanna see Mama now!"

Relenting, Michonne called out, "Rick, please bring my baby to me."

Michonne could hear him sigh heavily as he lifted Judith off the floor and brought her into the room. The minute the little girl's eyes met Michonne's, she squealed, shimmying out of her father's arms and rushing to Michonne, who leaned over the side of the bed to swoop her up and bring her in for a cuddle. Rick watched as she whispered into the little girl's ears, rocking her slowly until she fell asleep and Carl could take her home for the night.

…

Michonne tossed and turned as a comfortable position proved elusive. Craters of worry and anxiety etched across Rick's face as he sat by her side. He reached for her hand as she looked up at the ceiling, concentrating on a crack that ran nearly all the way to the opposite wall. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly; the cramping had become persistent enough to make the edges of everything around her hazy.

Dr. Soroyan had assured them that everything was progressing 'as expected,' but that didn't alleviate their uneasiness. So much could go wrong in the old world with even the best care, and the consequences if something did go wrong were much grimmer in this one.

Rick traced his calloused thumb over the center of her palm, gazing down at her as tears trailed down his cheeks and into his beard. She gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand as another contraction took her breath away.

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm late, I know. This chapter didn't turn out the way I had planned, but I'm tired of fiddling with it and just decided to let it go. Maybe I'll come back to rework it. We'll see. Only two more chapters to go!

I did a bit of a remix of Rick's state of mind after the deaths of Glenn and Abraham. I never fully bought into the storyline that a night of Negan bloviating would tip Rick so far over the edge that he would so readily give up the fight. I always pictured him going back to Alexandria, licking his wounds, then he and Michonne kicking it into high gear take the fight to Negan. And since I'd already taken liberties with having them not yet a couple during the Savior War, I figured, why not?

A very special thank you to the so, so lovely (and resident Shane side chick) winterscorpion for turning me on to "Get You" by Daniel Caesar and featuring Kali Uchis. It fit _perfectly_ with the Richonne vibe I was aiming for at the start of this chapter.

As always, thank you for reading!


	14. The Season of Light

"Look, I know how worried you both must be right now," Dr. Soroyan said, stepping through the doorway of the room in the infirmary where Michonne lay resting on a bed. "But I promise you, this isn't at all uncommon."

Michonne looked on as the Doctor took a few further steps into the room, pausing to give a comforting squeeze to Rick's shoulder, before redirecting his attention towards her. She glanced at Rick, watching as he turned around in the chair next to her bedside and acknowledged the Doctor's comments.

The entire evening had been spent awaiting the baby's arrival. They'd even taken a moment to link hands and pray for her safe delivery. Initially, labor had progressed quickly, creating a palpable buzz across Alexandria as they were inundated by periodic visits from neighbors.

But as night slipped into day without a baby, Michonne's contractions slowed considerably, leaving both in a state of exhausted panic. She tried to convince herself _and_ Rick that all was well, but without an ultrasound to monitor the baby, Dr. Soroyan could only state that the baby didn't seem to be in distress and 'these things happened in the old world too.'

"Sometimes, we progress all the way to the end in one continuous step, and sometimes the little one decides she's not _quite_ ready to make her debut," Dr. Soroyan concluded. "I know I'm probably asking the impossible, but I need both of you to stay calm. With Michonne's blood pressure spiking, we need to minimize chances of it going any higher."

"I'll keep her calm," Rick assured, turning his attention back to Michonne.

"Like I said, try to get some rest," Dr. Soroyan said, giving Michonne an encouraging smile.

"I'm pretty sure that's not gonna be possible," she stated.

"Probably so, but _try_ ," the Doctor replied. "Let me give you two some privacy. I'll be right next door, so holler if you need anything."

She wiped the tears from eyes, the echo of Dr. Soroyan's retreating footsteps the only sound in the quiet room. Rick reached for her hand, placing a delicate kiss on her palm before drawing it to his chest. She could feel the vibrating beat of his heart travel through her hand and into her own heart. They stared into each other's eyes. They both knew loss all too well, but if anything were to happen to the baby, it might be too much for either to bear.

"She's gonna be _fine_ Rick," Michonne whispered, tears rolling down the sides of face and dropping onto the pillows beneath her head. "I know it."

"I know it too," he said, kissing her hand once more. "Think you can get some sleep?"

"Probably not, but Dr. Soroyan _did_ said a nice massage might do the trick," Michonne teased, attempting to clear the tension enveloping the room.

He snorted, laying her hand back on the bed, then leaning down to grab the small bottle of oil from the bag at his feet. He gentle turned her onto her side, lifting the back of her maroon tank top until it rested under her arms. Squeezing a few drops from the bottle, he placed it back onto the bedside table and began vigorously rubbing the oil between his hands, warming it before placing his hands on Michonne.

Starting at her tailbone, he applied slight pressure as he spread the lightly scented balm across the smooth, soft expanse of her back. Yielding to his delicate touch, she felt herself begin to relax as his fingertips continued their gentle massage. Rick followed Dr. Soroyan's instructions, avoiding her spine and focusing on the aching muscles on either side of her hips.

He heard her release a soft sigh, her eyes closing as a feeling of calm and safety flooded her sense. She thought back to Andre's birth. How a panicked Mike had driven the doula crazy trying to make sure _everything_ was going according to plan. Teary-eyed, she now understood how frantic he'd been in his quest to do whatever he could to ease her pain.

Though it had been much briefer than she could have imagined, the time spent loving both Mike and Andre had been some of the best moments of her entire life. To get another chance at all of that was inconceivable. And to have all of it by the side of this man was everything.

Rick wiped his hands on the towel at her bedside table, slipped off his boots, and dropped onto the bed beside her. Leaning over to kiss her temple, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

"Tell me a story about him," he whispered, knowing exactly where her head was and wanting her to only think about happy memories in this moment.

"When I went back to work," she began, wrapping her arms around his as she shifted closer to his warmth. "I took every other Friday off. It was hard to do with my caseload, but I missed him so much during the week. Making Partner suddenly took a backseat."

"They do have a funny way of makin' sure you know what's important," he stated.

She nodded and continued, "he was such a sweet, sensitive boy. Right before he was born, we'd bought a condo on Glen Iris. We didn't have a yard, but there were lots of parks in the neighborhood. It was perfect for us. Anyway, we would walk up to Old Fourth Ward Park almost every Friday to play. It was our little ritual."

Rick wrapped his arms tightly around her as sobs caused her body to shake.

"I don't know, but Andre would talk about it _all_ week. God forbid if it was a Friday when I had to go into the office. Even when we really should have taken a stroller, the minute he could walk, he'd insist we walk there together. It was only a few blocks, but for a 2-year-old, it may as well have been a marathon. He never minded it though. He was always so inquisitive. I spent pretty much most of the walk answering his questions about wherever he decided to point. I _loved_ it."

"What was his favorite thing to do at the park?"

"Mostly feed the ducks," she laughed, leaning back into his arms. "He was _obsessed_ with them. Always worrying about who would feed them on the days we were gone. I had to point out when other people fed them too or he would never have let us leave. He once tried to convince Mike to get me to take one home."

Michonne snuggled deeper into Rick's arms as they both laughed, the memories bringing tears to her eyes, but a smile to her lips.

"And every single trip ended the same way. We'd get home, he'd be hungry and tired, but he always wanted a hug and kiss and would tell me, 'Mama, this was the best day ever!'"

Rick gave her a loving squeeze, her body gently quaking as tears trailed down her cheeks.

"That's what I miss the most. There's something so special about knowing how _happy_ your presence makes someone else. I didn't realize how much I missed that until I had to deal with you and Carl's puppy dog eyes every time I came back to the prison."

Rick chuckled, lifting up on his elbow to drop a kiss on her cheek.

"And here I thought you didn't even notice," he teased, his hands trailing across her belly.

"Oh, I noticed," she said, gripping his forearms. "I felt pretty guilty sometimes, making you and everyone else worry. I guess I just felt I had to take care of the Governor before it was too late, even though it did end up being too late…"

"Well, I was just always happy to see you," he interrupted, wanting to lighten the conversation a little bit. "Carl used to do somethin' similar."

"Do tell."

"Well…," he began, lifting up onto his elbow again so he could see more of her face.

"He used to do this thing when he wanted me to stay home and play with him. Most nights, I was the one who took the cruiser home. Every once in a while, he'd sneak downstairs and hide my keys. I was pretty sure it was at the crack of dawn, so that's pretty determined for a five-year-old. Anyways, he's a _terrible_ liar and I was a cop, so his confessions came easily. I always felt guilty that I didn't call in sick when he did that because I know he just wanted more of my time. I wish I had."

"Kids are funny like that. They just want your time."

"There's more to the story," Rick continued, tilting her head towards his so he could look into her eyes. " _I_ actually did the same thing when you'd run off lookin' for the Governor. I'd either make sure Darryl took Flame out on a hunt, or that one of the vehicles was out of commission. Anythin' to get you to stay."

"Yeah, I knew all about that," Michonne said, chuckling softly.

Rick rose up onto his arm to look fully into her eyes.

"You knew? How?"

"First of all, because you're not exactly slick Rick. You're more obvious than you think. At least to me. Secondly, because I was a parent. I know when someone is trying to get your attention. Sometimes I let it go. And other times? Well, let's just say Darryl knew to just keep the damn horse at the prison or we'd have a problem."

Rick snorted, leaning back onto the pillow and pulling her flush to his body. Of course she knew. He could never really hide anything from her. He smiled to himself because he wouldn't want it any other way. Every step along the way has led them here, had helped them turn this ragtag clan into family.

"I haven't wanted for much in a long time," his began, his fingers laced soothingly around hers. "I wouldn't dare to. It seems whenever I did, the universe decides to show me who's really in charge. This is _everythin'_ I've ever wanted in this world."

"I know," Michonne murmured, inhaling deeply as she felt the twinge of a contraction coming on. "I've been so afraid of losing something so precious again. I can't Rick."

"Yeah, you can," he said, gently turning a tearful Michonne's head to face his. "You won't, but you could. That's just how life is now. We hope for the best, but if something happens, we pick up the pieces and move on. We do it for our children… and for ourselves."

He reached down to palm her belly, feeling the flutter across his fingertips.

"But this?" he stated, giving her belly a delicate caress. "This is _ours_. We won't lose this."

* * *

 _He'd arrived early just to spend a few extra minutes with her. She was overjoyed, grateful. She could hear Carl stomping around upstairs, pulling boxes out of closets to begin helping her sort through all the Monroe's had collected in the short time they'd lived in the house._

 _Rick had wanted to be available to help her with whatever needed to be done, or just to sit and listen to her talk. He was overjoyed that she'd allowed him to stay so close; he was grateful._

" _You sure you're ok with me going through you and Spencer's stuff?" he asked again, not exactly comfortable with the prospects of uncovering things about their life together he might not want to know._

" _For you, I'm an open book," she teased, running her fingers across the spines of books on the upper shelves. "No more secrets, remember?"_

 _He'd crouched down and started at the bottom, pulling out volumes and volumes of architectural tomes obviously belonging to Reg. They'd had a plan to make one of the smaller homes next to the converted space they used as a school into a library. Michonne had requested all books that looked like they could be used to teach useful skills be organized and set up in the library as soon as they cleared out the Monroe house._

 _With careful consideration, Rick worked his way up the shelf, chastising himself for worrying if he would pick the right books for Michonne to keep, then pleasantly surprised when he got a 'nod' after showing her which ones he was packing away just for her. Knowing he was able to identify the ones she liked made his heart skip a beat._

 _As she pulled a thin leather-bound notebook from an upper shelf, it slipped from her grasps. Reaching towards her, he caught it before it could hit the ground. He flipped it over, examining the cover, where he recognized Michonne's small, neat handwriting._

" _It's my 'homemade' book of poetry," she chuckled, reaching down to take it from his hands. "I've had this weird little habit since I was in junior high. It's kind of silly that I still do it."_

" _Tell me," he pleaded._

 _She sighed, tracing a finger across the worn edges of the leather cover._

" _I used to copy bits of my favorite poems into notebooks. And whenever I felt inspired, I'd add some of my own. I wasn't very good, but I liked it a lot. Writing always made me feel… I don't know. Balanced, I guess. I was super shy about it though. No one really knew. Spenc–"_

 _Her breath caught in her throat. She stopped and inhaled deeply, forcing herself to continue._

" _He encouraged me to keep doing it, even found me this notebook."_

" _Can you read me one?" he cautiously asked, pulling her down to sit with him on the stark, wooden floor._

 _Settling next to him, their backs against the bookshelf, she turned over the notebook in her hands. Haltingly, she opened it to the first page, taking care not to crease the pages. She noted a slightly dog-eared page Spencer had marked and pressed the fold back with her finger. She allowed her eyes to sweep downwards, taking in the printed words she'd memorized so long ago._

" _This is one of my favorites," she murmured, before reading the text._

Ancient night and the unruly salt  
beat at the walls of my house.  
The shadow is all one, the sky  
throbs now along with the ocean,  
and sky and shadow erupt  
in the crash of their vast conflict.  
All night long they struggle;  
nobody knows the name  
of the harsh light that keeps slowly opening  
like a languid fruit.  
So on the coast comes to light,  
out of seething shadow, the harsh dawn,  
gnawed at by the moving salt,  
swept clean by the mass of night,  
bloodstained in its sea-washed crater.

 _The clear, soft tenor of her voice mesmerized him. As she quietly finished, his mind noted the tremor in her voice when she read 'the coast comes to light, out of seething shadow.' The phase sat with him, bringing him back to their time together on the road, as well as the day they walked through Alexandria's gates. A moment of clarity stilled him as sat on the hardwood floor, watching her try to hold back the floodgates. She had been the one the entire time. His light, the sign beckoning him home._

 _He shifted closer as she turned the page, her small neat print at the top of the next page:_ The Season of Light by Michonne Thibodaux _._

 _Aside from some crime dramas and pulp fiction, he hadn't read a lot in his old life, and certainly not poetry. But there was something about reading the words she had written on that page. Something about getting a peek into her inner thoughts triggered his curiosity and further drew him to her._

" _That one's yours?" he quietly asked, averting his eyes from the page in case she didn't want him to read it._

" _Yeah, it is," she replied, keeping the page open on her lap so he could read over her shoulder._

 _She began,_

Ominous clouds obscured it from my view

And yet, I saw the light from my window

I chastised it, wondering how dare it shine so bright

A sparkling beam breaking through the darkness

He'd promised we'd reach the season of light

But here I stand, alone, bare, caught unprepared

I'm dragged unwillingly from the shadows

I'm forced to embrace it

And this, I do for you

My spirit has been marked, yet remains buoyant

Out of sadness has come light and beauty

Out of the light, she will be born

" _When did you write that one?" he asked, studying her through his own teary eyes._

" _When we found out about the baby. He was positive it was a girl and sort of convinced me too. I wanted to give it to him as a present, but…"_

 _She flipped to the back of the book, both watching as a small slip of paper floated out of the notebook and onto the living room's oak floors. He reached over to pick it up, noting the large, messy cursive at the top of the page, followed by Michonne's careful script._

" _I wrote this for him… after," she rasped, holding it open on her lap._

You were right. If it's a girl, that'll be the perfect name for her. You told me that I was your port in this storm, your home when you desperately needed one.

I made you a promise and I will keep it. I started writing again, just when I'm sad and want to get my feelings out. It's been hard, but Rick's been here, Carl and Judith too. I'm blessed, I know that now.

I was scared too, even though I don't always admit it. But I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I want this. Every time I close my eyes, I see her in my dreams. She has my lips, your eyes. She's smart, beautiful, and so strong. I can't wait to meet her.

 _Peering over her shoulder, he wasn't sure exactly what he should feel. A sense of guilt about being the beneficiary of another man's demise. Remorse at even considering a place in Michonne's life, in her heart, in this child's future. Thinking of it felt wrong, grotesque even. Spencer had been gone for three months now and the words from their conversation in the van rarely left his mind._

' _She loves you too. I've known it from the beginning. Used to break my heart, if I'm being honest. I know she loved me too. Felt it every day, in every way. I know what you guys had was different. I didn't like it, but I accepted it. I accepted it because, if that was the price of loving her, I was willing to pay it.'_

 _He glanced down again, pondering the circled word at the top of the page as Michonne sat silently crying beside him. The finality of their conversation in the van still rang in his ears. This man had loved her wholeheartedly, just like he did. In that moment, Rick reaffirmed his pledge to Spencer._

 _Rick's arms closed tightly around her as he leaned against the bookshelf and wept with her. They cried for those lost to the cruelty of this world. For the chances taken and the failures endured. For a child who'd never know how hard her father had endeavored in trying to live long enough to meet her._

 _He considered the merciful grace that allowed him to keep his children at his side. He wept for Michonne's bravery. Most would surely have crumbled. He steadied himself as he heard Carl's boots hit the stairs and begin their descent into the living room._

 _Slipping the note back into the book, he slid the notebook into the box he would carry to her new home. Gingerly, he got up, then helped her to her feet. He had already committed to be there for her, but he vowed to ensure the baby would want for nothing. Would be surrounded by love and light and all the happiness possible in this life._

* * *

She took in a shallow, tortured breath, her eyes never leaving his. The ambient noise reduced to a hush as searing pain tore through her body, stilling her movements and shocking her system. She knew there was light at the end of this dark tunnel but her exhaustion had her questioning her ability to reach it. So she opened his eyes, her signal in the storm, red-rimmed and glistening in the soft sunlight streaming from the windows, as her guide.

"C'mon sweetheart," he coaxed, voice cracking as the sheer effort of her endurance pushed his emotions to the limit. "She's almost here. She wants to meet her Mama."

The sweat that had quickly beaded across her forehead, now ran like spring rain overflowing an engorged creek down her forehead and into her eyes, their salty residue burning and causing her eyes to reflexively close. She squinted at him, gripping his hand firmly as the shattering sensation of another contraction caused her to bare down, legs trembling from the exertion.

"She's almost her Michonne," Dr. Soroyan stated, one hand applying firm pressure to her belly.

Michonne felt a distinct drag as the Doctor's other hand left her belly and disappeared beneath her belly. Without warning, the pressure valve was released as the tension left her body and the sharp pains she'd been feeling morphed into a dull, pulsating ache.

"Here she is," Dr. Soroyan said, lifting a wet, squirming mass from between her legs.

Rick looked on in awe as the Doctor scooted back away from the foot of the bed and placed the writhing, yet still quiet baby onto his towel covered knees. Rick held his breath as he watched the Dr. Soroyan vigorously rubbed the towel across the baby's body, jarring the infant as he tipped her to the side and used the suction to clear her mouth and throat.

Leaning up, Michonne's worried eyes caught Rick's before dropping to Dr. Soroyan and the baby. She wanted to ask if everything was ok, but fear stilled her tongue and ratcheted her anxiety. She was ok. She had to be.

The silence was broken by the high-pitched wails. Michonne's head dropped back on to the pillow, too exhausted to do anything but laugh through tears as her baby's passionate cries echoed off the walls of the stark infirmary.

"Papa," Dr. Soroyan called out to Rick. "Care to do the honors?"

Rick's tear strewn face turned away from Michonne's peaceful visage to take in the baby now laying on top of the towel on the floor. He took the scissors the Doctor handed over to him and crossed closer to the baby, taking all of her in for the first time. Tying off the umbilical cord, Dr. Soroyan directed Rick to where he should sever it. Once all was done, the Doctor tied off the cord and gently lifted the baby into Rick's arms.

As Rick looked down at her, night had turned into day and he watched beams of sunlight dance across the dark brown curls covering her head. He marveled at her scrunched-up face as her eyes valiantly tried to adjust to the too bright sunlight.

Her eyes didn't leave hers as he stared down in wonder. He'd been so young and panicked when he Carl's birth that it had all been a blur. He'd missed Judith's birth completely, for that, he would have lifelong regret. To witness the miracle of this new life entering the world was beyond his wildest hopes and dreams.

Turning back to Michonne, he placed his baby girl on her chest. He leaned back onto his elbow and moved closer, placing a shield around both. Michonne looked at Rick, then back at their little girl, basking in the wonderment. They grinned through tear-drenched eyes; his transforming into a throaty chuckle as he looked down at the love of his life and this second chance she'd granted him.

"She's beautiful," Rick began, stroking the baby's cheek as he looked down at both her and Michonne. "Perfect, just like her Mama."

"I still can't believe she's here," Michonne stated, eyes trained on her baby girl. "She's everything."

She glanced up at him, taking in the adoration in his eyes.

"So, have you decided on a name?" Dr. Soroyan asked, looking eagerly between Rick and Michonne.

Michonne turned and locked eyes with Rick. She looked down at her daughter and quietly said,

"Isla Monroe Grimes."

* * *

 **A/N** : Next is… and a little something extra, then the epilogue. I'll post the "extra" in my "This-n-That" collection, so look for it there.

 _The Night in Isla Negra_ is a poem by Pablo Neruda. Isla Negra, Chile was Neruda's favorite vacation home and his final resting place.

I was crushed to learn Neruda was not actually a good human being. Just further incentive to avoid idolization. Those we admire can be shockingly human. Or in this case, inhumane. Thank you to the reader that pointed me to his dirty doings.

The second poem is an original.

As always, thank you for reading!


	15. And So It Is

**Epilogue**

* * *

Late summer sun streamed through the bedroom window, flooding the room with a uniquely vibrant lightness, warming Rick's face and gently drawing him from a deep sleep. Unbothered by the heat tickling the neatly trimmed gray hairs on his cheeks, his eyes remained closed as he considered how much longer he could afford to bask in the warmth of their cozy cocoon before the duties of the day demanded his attention. For a brief moment, the blissful stillness of his surroundings nearly lulled him back to sleep.

The silence was broken by soft, distinctive snoring, pulling his focus to the floor next to his side of the bed. He opened an eye, squinting as the harsh sunlight momentarily splashed starbursts across his field of vision. He cupped a hand over his brow, shielding his eyes from the penetrating glare, while turning onto his side and leaning over the edge of the bed. He peered down at his eldest, sleeping soundly on top of a bed of couch cushions and blankets strewn across the floor.

He smiled as he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his firstborn's chest. A permanent resident of the Hilltop for nearly a year now, Carl had been sorely missed by every single member of the Grimes household. For Rick, his absence had brought on a heartache he knew would take some time to heal. He'd always assumed Carl's departure from their nest would hit Michonne the hardest. After all, while he hadn't grown beneath her heart, he'd certainly grown _in_ it. The young man had given a childless mother the chance to rediscover the joy of loving and being loved, by a cherished son.

To Rick's genuine shock, he'd deposited many more tears onto Michonne's shoulders than she had on his. Laying there, merely recalling the day Carl and Enid had packed up his things and made the trek to the Hilltop, threatened to reopen the wounds he'd successfully kept from consuming him for the past several months. Today was a special day. One likely to force his emotions towards that inevitable cliff, resulting in what was sure to be incessant water works.

 _I've become such a sap in my old age,_ he chuckled to himself.

After all, Carl was almost 19. Only a few years younger than he'd been when he had married Lori. Yet, he couldn't help wishing for a few more years with his little boy by his side. But time was a particularly heartless mistress. She'd snatched Carl before Rick had been ready to let go.

He'd eventually conceded, recognizing his once rambunctious little boy had grown into a smart, kind, courageous young man, _exactly_ the type of leader this world would need. He'd more than earned his independence and had made his father immensely proud.

Turning onto his back, Rick tucked his chin into his chest and lifted his head from the pillow, glancing towards the foot of the bed. A grin found its way to his lips as he spied Judith and Isla cuddled against the footboard, their arms locked around each other, their mouths hanging wide open. A hopeful aura washed over him, permeating the room and keeping his melancholy at bay.

The pleasure of witnessing their unshakable bond melted his heart. These two little girls with no common blood, were so much alike. Three-year-old Isla copied each and every thing the nearly six-year-old Judith did. And while Queen Bee Judith sometimes bristled at the mimicry; she also lapped up her sister's adoration like manna from the gods.

His girls were curious and brilliant, brave and spirited, generous and beautiful. Judith's protective instincts over Isla and her new baby brother made Rick so very proud. As did Isla's quest to follow Judith's guidance in most things, yet never feared becoming the opposition whenever her big sister went too far.

His girls were perfection in human form. Any obstacles this world dared drop in their way wouldn't stand a chance. Together, the Grimes children would beat this world. He was sure of it.

Turning, he smiled at the sight of his beloved. She was awake, but her eyes remained closed. He was awed by how the warm light skirted over her exposed skin, making it glitter.

The soothing atmosphere of the quiet room had relaxed her features, leaving the calm, effortlessly happy Michonne that Rick so adored. His life's mission had become ensuring this would be the only expression her face would ever know.

Noting how her succulent lips were slightly parted, Rick licked his. He wanted a kiss. Badly.

Instead, he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, taking care not to disturb the baby boy laying between them with his eyes closed, yet still latched onto Michonne's breast.

"So much for havin' a romantic night together," he whispered, watching as a sleepy smile crept across her face. "I swear, these kids of ours act like interruptin' us is an Olympic event and their aimin' for gold."

"You know as well as I do that _no_ interruptions would have been a _miracle_ ," she said, slowly opening her eyes as she raised a hand to her mouth, attempting to stifle a yawn. " _This_ one wouldn't allow it."

She leaned down to drop a gentle kiss on the crown of their baby boy's head. Predictably, their latest love project had awoke at the crack of dawn for his first meal, then spent the ensuing time lazily alternating between sleep and nursing, whichever suited his fancy.

Rick drew his hand from her cheek, trailing it down her arms until he reached his youngest's head. He tenderly brushed his fingertips through the thick patch of dark, glossy corkscrew curls covering his entire head, the volume of which almost comical, especially sitting atop the tiny head of a three-month-old.

The subtle movement caused their son to detach from Michonne's nipple. Rick pulled back his hand, knowing he might have just set the trigger that would disrupt the peace.

"What have I been telling you?" Michonne teased, leaning over to help the baby latch back on. "If you want quiet in this house, _do not_ play with this boy's food."

"I shoulda known better," Rick said, gently patting his son's back. "Daddy's sorry Duncan."

Michonne stared affectionately at Rick while his gaze remained on their son; their little warrior perfectly embodied his name. He'd been a wholly unexpected surprise after over a year of trying, but one that was gladly welcomed and for which they all were immensely thankful.

 _We did that,_ she thought to herself.

"Can you believe all of this is ours?" he murmured, echoing her sentiments as he gestured across the room.

"No need to whisper. Our three _other_ kids sleep like the dead, it's just this one here that doesn't like it when we play games."

Rick leaned down to kiss the top of Duncan Tyreese's head. They hoped to one day teach their son all about his namesake. To tell him of the man who saved his sister and died with his eyes open, sacrificing everything to help get them to a safe place.

"You ready for today?" she asked, fixing her gaze on him and pulling him out of his thoughts. "Say yes."

"Yes," he rasped, tilting his head to the side and gazing down at her through his honey-brown eyelashes.

"Me too," she smiled, reaching over to lace her fingers through his.

Today, family and friends from far-flung communities would be joining them in celebration.

"What'a we gotta do first?" he asked, lifting her hand and kissing her palm.

"Enid should be here in a few hours. I figure we let the girls play downstairs for a while, then send them over to Rosita and Eugene's to hang out while we get ready. I'll keep Duncan with me, and you and Carl can go over to Aaron and Jesus' to get ready, then we can–"

"So… no private time for just…?" he queried, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, maybe we'll have a _minute_ or two to sneak away," she smirked. "Can't promise anythin' today though, cowboy. Reckon we may have'ta wait."

He grinned at her exaggeration of his accent.

"I'll try my damnedest to wait, but you know how I am. Especially with you always lookin' the way you do. Hard bein' a patient man."

"Patient man?" she mocked, giving his hand a squeeze. "Who's that? I don't think I know him."

He leaned back onto his pillow and cackled, momentarily startling Duncan, who quickly went back to the business of eating. Seven years after the world ended and here they are, truly _living_. They'd taken the bitterest of fruit and turned it into the sweetest.

The miracle inherit in all of this wasn't lost on him. He was blessed to be surrounded by the people he loved most in the entire world. Honored to play a significant role in re-ordering this world. Gratified to do all of it with this magnificent woman by his side.

The past few years had seen them endure challenges, but there had been more triumphs than tragedies and the recognition they'd all made it to the other side, to a life worth fighting for, still filled him with wonder.

He watched Michonne as she pulled off a sleeping Duncan and quietly rose, gently lifting him up and into the crib next to the bed.

She turned back and stood still, mesmerized by the view of Rick laying bare-chested with the comforter pulled up just above his waist. Surrounded by their kids or not, this was never an easy visual to walk away from.

He held out his hand as she settled back into bed, reaching for him instinctively. Their eyes never leaving each other's, he pulled her towards himself, wrapping his portion of the comforter around her. She giggles as he pulled her close, her body finally laying flush with his own.

"Rick…" Michonne purred, debating how far she should let his hands wander. "What are you doing?"

"Shhhhh!" Rick warned, covering her giggles with his lips. "We gotta be quiet."

He looked down to ensure his two open-mouthed angels were still blissfully floating in dreamland, before turning his focus back to the main attraction. His primary distraction.

Rick's hand made their way to her lovely face; fingertips drawing a straight line from the apples of her cheek, to where the corners of her lips had begun to curl upwards. Running his thumb delicately across her cheek and to her brow, he leaned in for a kiss, before letting his hand meander down her exquisite body. Over her arm, past the swell of her hips, onto her trim waist, which he gently gripped. She had always been the perfect balance of hard and soft, shy and brave, practical and devil-may-care. He loved every single piece of her.

He moaned into her mouth, dipping his hand down her hip and going for his favored prize, when a sharp clearing of a throat brought a frustrating end to their brief dalliance.

"You guys _know_ your children are in the room, right?" Carl chided, firmly wedging himself between his parent's and their good time. "Are you really prepared to deal with the fall out of such trauma? There's only so much our minds can take."

"Ok smart ass," Rick retorted, watching as Michonne's eyes took a long, healthy roll. "You caught us _kissing_. You're an adult. You know about these thin–"

"Rick!" Michonne admonished, feeling the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. She still couldn't fathom Carl as a grown man doing… grown man stuff. To her, he would forever be the awkward 12-year-old she met so long ago. " _No_ mother wants to hear this, so you two need to stop. Now.."

"Son, what do you want me to do?" Rick asked, ignoring Michonne's command to poke Carl once more. "Mom's a looker."

"Gross," Carl mumbled, his playful tone negating his words.

Rising from the floor and moving over to the foot of the bed to collect his sisters, he stated, "I'm getting them out of here. We don't have enough psychiatrists among the living to deal with this level of damage."

Rick tipped his head back and laughed as Carl detangled the girls and scoop Isla into his arms, before waking very grumpy Judith.

"C'mon Judes," Carl said, taking her by the hand and theatrically shaking his head as he led his two little sisters out of the bedroom. "At least Duncan's too small to scar."

Rick watched as Carl closed the door, before quickly turning back to the visage of Michonne's sexy smile and mischievous eyes staring back at him.

"That kid's awfully helpful when he wants to be," Rick said, dropping his head to draw her lips to his. "Now, where were we?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, rocking her body against his. "I think I'm gonna need you to remind me."

…

She pulled him close, reveling in her body's instantaneous response as his strong, war-hardened hands landed on either side of her waist. He moved her onto her back and deftly covered her body with his. Their noses landed a whisper apart as her racing heart sped up to join his. Beating in synch, he pulled back to gaze into her eyes, examining the essence of this woman.

She inhaled sharply as Rick dropped a feather-light kiss on her brow. Her hands found their way to his arms as she felt him balance himself on one arm, while his other roamed from her waist, down to her smooth, powder soft thighs, snaking his hands between them.

Slowly, he stroked her through her panties. His warm yet rough touch sending a thrilling jolt rumbling from her belly to her toes. She shivered as he ran his hand back up her thigh, pausing a moment to gently squeeze the delicate patch of skin where her waist indented, before running up her arm to land back on her cheek.

She drew her hand up to cover his. They stilled, labored breathing the only sound in the room, no words spoken aside from what their eyes could convey.

"I love you more than anythin'," he drawled, his thumb absentmindedly tracing a design from her brow to the tip of her chin. "You've meant _everythin'_ to me for so, so long. Six years ago, I'd never have imagined I could be _happy_ in this world, but…"

"But, here we are," she whispered, their thoughts, as always, melding into a common feeling.

He leaned in, dropping a slow, sweet kiss on her forehead, before pulling back to gaze at her once more. He went in for a second one, this time landing it on the tip of her nose before pulling back to catch the brilliance of a smile on her lips.

He dropped his hand to her belly, feeling her flesh pebble as goosebumps sprung up across the surface. He dropped his hand lower, skimming the edge of her panties as she involuntarily lifted her hips from the bed.

"Someone's awfully eager," he teased, using his index finger to draw her panties down, exposing the sparse patch of hair to the sunlight.

"That's because _someone's_ got me all bothered," she replied, dragging his lower lip between her teeth as she pulled him down for a kiss.

She drew her knees up, allowing him to pull her panties off and drop them on the side of the bed without releasing her from his kiss. He groaned for a moment as she broke their kissing, scooting up to quickly pull her button-down sleep shirt over her head, while using her feet to drag down his boxers from his hips.

She pulled his face towards her, pressing her lips against his in a hard, scorching kiss. He moaned into her mouth as her tongue breached his lips and she wrapped her long legs around his waist.

The battle ended at their front door, but fighters somehow instinctively sought victory in any situation. Spiritedly, they battled for dominance. He pulled up again, eyes shifting from hers to move downwards, taking in the glorious expanse of creamy skin enrobing her body. She consumed him. Today, he would let her win.

She rolled them over, straddling his waist as she slid down his body until her core landed on his. The friction elicited a gasp from Michonne. Her legs went numb, losing her grip on Rick's slim hips and giving him a chance to reclaim the upper hand.

Expertly, he flipped her onto her back, grunting as he felt her tremble, the slick heat of her core sliding across his aching hardness.

"How much time you think we've got?" she groaned, parting her legs to give him full access.

"Enough," he rasped, his lips leaving hers to seek respite at the crook of her neck.

That soft, tender spot that never failed to provoke an utterly ethereal sound from her lips. Palming his almost painfully rigid length, he sought home.

The first delicious push into her left the echo of her moans ringing in his ears. They clung to each other, not a sliver of light between them. Rick lifted her arms over her head, holding them in place as he lifted his head and stared into her desire-filled eyes. He stilled himself, excitement threatening to end things more quickly than he deemed acceptable.

Slowly, he rocked into Michonne, holding her in place as her body pitched and her back vaulted off the bed. He soon felt the telltale tiny tremors and subtle changes in her breathing which signaled the onset of her climax. He slowed his thrust, the rhythm shifting, changing as the lovers played to their own melody.

He shifted upwards, his thrusts angled _just_ right, as he hit her spot every single time he descended into her.

He was dizzy, pleasure permeating every aching corner of his being. For extra measure, he released her hands and dropped his to where they were joined, flicking her nub with precision as she ascended. She fell; he quickly followed.

…

As she came down from her high, she ran her fingers through his hair, landing on the shorn patch at the back of his neck. After all this time, the sweet pull of his sex never failed to leave her spellbound.

She looked over at her handsome husband, a thin sheen of sweat covering his torso, those beautiful eyes that had captivated her so long ago staring back at her.

"I'm still mad at you for cutting _my_ curls," she pouted, dramatically pulling at his now closely clipped locks. "They were literally the _best_ part of you.

"First off, really?" he asked, pulling her onto his chest. "I've got _nothin'_ else you like?"

She giggled, lifting her head just in time to catch the bemusement in his eyes.

"Second, what do I need to do to make it up to you? I _told_ Carl to go easy, but I guess he got carried away."

"That's what you get for letting a kid who _never_ wants to cut his own hair, cut yours," she huffed.

"He said he'd only let me cut _his_ for today if I let him cut mine. I really had no choice sweetheart."

"The both of you know better than that," she playfully scolded. "No choice my ass!"

"Mmmmm… and a mighty fine ass it is," Rick growled, running a hand down her spine and landing a firm grip on her backside.

"Don't try to sweet talk me Rick. It won't work."

"You sure about that?" he asked, giving her an assured squeeze. "Well, how about from now on, I don't let _anyone_ but you cut my hair? Will that make you happy?"

"I see the famous Rick Grimes plays dirty," she moaned, arching into his touch. "I gotta admit, you still look awfully sexy."

" _Still_ , huh?"

"How about always?" she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck as she straddled him. "You _always_ look sexy."

In reality, while she _loved_ his curls, there was something so mind-blowingly _sexy_ about how this man looked now. The marble-like muscles she felt beneath her at the moment. The gray in his trimmed beard, along with his freshly shorn tresses created a package that turned her on every single time he entered a room. They're never be a version of him she didn't want.

All these years together, the battles, the heartbreak. They were _still_ in it. Still in this thing together.

* * *

"Mama!" Judith whined, rising to her knees from the rug on the living room floor. "Issy won't _listen_. I need you to punish her now, please."

Rick and Michonne stood in the doorway between the dining room and the living room, chuckling to themselves as they took in the look of exasperation on Judith's face. It tickled both of them to watch their eldest girl do what she did best: boss each and every soul who passed her way. Unfortunately for Isla, being Judith's little sister frequently put her directly in the line of fire.

Yet they loved as fiercely as they fought. For both parents, a deep comfort came with knowing their children would have each other to lean on in this life. Being able to provide an environment where they could just be _kids_ lifted a worrisome burden from their shoulders.

Rick wrapped his arms around Michonne's waist, drawing her against his chest and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Having three strong-willed women under one roof was an exercise in strategic battle picking. Yet since he _lived_ for the privilege of luxuriating in the brightness of their orbit, he wouldn't have it any other way.

While he worshiped his ladies above all else, with Carl gone, the Grimes household had been in desperate need of gender balance. Duncan's unexpected arrival tipped the scale, if ever so slightly. It had forced Isla out of the nursery and into a shared room with Judith. They'd expected war and had been surprised to see peace be the more frequent house guest. At least when Isla showed obedience to Judith's commands.

"Judy-bear, you know Issy's not a doll," Michonne gently chided, leaning her head against Rick's chest.

While Judith contemplated how far she could press her point, the youngest Grimes daughter sat stone-faced on the floor, her tiny arms defiantly crossed over her chest as she looked up at her father for support, squinting as she tilted her head in that familiar Grimes way.

"But we needed a baby," Judith said, secretly prepared to concede, yet wanting her parents know it wasn't all her fault. "And _you_ said Duncan's too small for us to play with when you're not in the room."

"She's got a mind of her own," Rick said. "Now I _know_ for a fact you wouldn't like it very much if you didn't get to make _any of the_ rules, would you?"

The six-year-old looked up at her parents, knowing the answer expected of her. She sighed, sitting back on her heels. The game was _her_ idea. Shouldn't she be able to make the rules? She just _knew_ it would be so much more fun for everyone if they just listened.

"I guess not," Judith mumbled, turning attention back to her non-compliant sister. Issy didn't look happy, which spoiled the fun. Even though she still silently bemoaned Issy's refusal to be swaddled like a baby for her epically detailed playtime, she was the _big_ sister and didn't like it one bit when her little sister was sad.

"Don't wanna be the baby," Isla protested, looking at the sister she adore. "Duncan's the baby."

A frustrated Judith turned towards the much more amenable Herschie, who promptly shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how he could help in this situation. At four and a half, Herschie already knew it was a fool's errand to resist Judith's often elaborating thought out plans.

"How about use we Bun-Bun instead Issy?" Judith suggested, looking and Isla as she pointed to the tattered bunny laying underneath the coffee table. "He's smaller and easy to carry."

"Okkkkaaay," Isla said, smiling as she nodded vigorously at Judith's change of heart.

While a crisis had been averted, the scene was broken by high-pitched wails coming from upstairs. Michonne turned to look towards the staircase, sliding out of Rick's arms.

"Relax," he said, holding onto her more tightly." Carl's got this. Besides, he and I need to take 'im over to Rosita and Eugene's place in a little while anyway."

She nodded, lifting her head and catching the mirth in his eyes. She looked over at the three children, now seeming to have forgotten the previous conflict. Judith lay the bunny in the middle of a baby blanket and begun to carefully wrap him up, just like she'd seen her mom do for Duncan. Isla and Herschie sat next to her, laying out the plastic dinner set for the "family meal" scenario Judith had cooked up for playtime.

Michonne couldn't help grinning at the sheer ordinariness of the moment. Just children playing in the comfort and safety of their own home.

"How is it even possible we ended up with _four_ kids at the end of the world?" Michonne asked, giggling as Rick tickled her sides, before moving his hands from her waist, to around her shoulders.

"Well," he began, his drawl particularly pronounced in a way he knew would get a laugh out of her. "Like I said, it's our civic duty to re-populate the earth. This is the only way that gets done. Besides, we could always have one mo–"

"No!" she quickly interrupted, drawing a cackle from Rick as he leaned down to kiss her pouty lips. "Don't even put that out into the universe. We're _done_. _I'm_ done. How about we give others a chance to contribute to the gene pool?"

"Hmmmm, you might be onto somethin' here," he began, tilting her chin up with his fingertips to get a full view of her beautiful face. "You've gotta admit though, we _do_ make beautiful babies."

She lifting a brow to side-eye him, before shifting her gaze back to an animated Judith now trying to get Isla and Herschie to follow part two of her plan. She laughed, turning back to look into the deep seas of his eyes.

"What I _meant_ to say was we _raise_ beautiful babies… _and_ make 'em too."

She looked up adoringly, mirroring his dazzling smile as she took in his handsome profile.

"We sure do."

* * *

"There!" Michonne exclaimed, closing the last button on the back of Enid's dress.

She spun the young woman around, taking in her bright smile as comforting energy percolated throughout the room. Maggie and Rosita sat on the bed, chatting while trying to prevent a rambunctious Abraham Daniel from cannonballing from the bed onto pillows his mother had preemptively laid out beside the bed.

"I swear," Rosita sighed, patting her extended belly with one hand while using the other to quickly grab her toddler's leg before he dove off the bed. "This kid will be the death of me! This is what I get for naming him after the biggest daredevil I ever met."

The ladies laughed, reminiscing about the bold mountain of a man still missed by them all. Every joyous occasion seemed to bring with it a bittersweet moment where the realization of those who hadn't made it to the moment sneaked into the survivors' consciousness.

They'd made a pact to ensure today would be different. This was a celebration of the lives they'd all fought so valiantly to attain. Of finding the bright light at the end of this world's bleak tunnel. Of new lives born and familial bonds strengthened. Today, their dearly departed would be honored with joyful thoughts only.

Michonne left Enid at the full-length mirror and walked over to the window. Pulling back the curtains to sneak a peek outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her boys. All she could make out through trees partially blocking her view was the flower-covered path down to the similarly decorated gazebo.

The community had done a beautiful job decorating the grounds around the picturesque pond framing the gazebo. Vibrantly colored blankets and rugs had been laid out all over the grounds and would be used for guests to sit.

The descending sun had taken some bite out of the humid day, making the festivities much more bearable as Michonne observed party goers in garb that would have been considered casual for the old world, yet fancy for this one.

The intoxicating aroma of grilled meats wafted into the room, making Michonne's mouth water at the feast prepared special for today. There weren't many moments to indulge, but they would all put the guilt on the shelf and enjoy the bounty.

"Michonne!" Maggie reprimanded, rising from the bed. "Step away from that window."

"Yeah," Rosita added, holding Abraham Daniel in her arms as Maggie helped pull her up. "Isn't it bad luck or something for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding?"

"I never bought into that old wives' tale," Michonne said, turning away from the window and walking back to the mirror. "Besides, we saw each other this morning."

"I bet you did!" Rosita snorted, ignoring the pointed look Michonne gave her as she tilted her head towards Enid.

The young woman blushed, then smiled. She was happy to be surrounded by these powerful women she admired so much. Grateful for the family they'd built from scratch and had allowed her to join with open arms.

"How do you want your hair?" Enid asked, making her way over to stand next to Michonne.

"I was thinking up, but that might be too heavy," Michonne replied, lifting a handful up to test its weight.

"Your locs are kissing your booty Michonne!" Rosita exclaimed, dropping her son to the floor and gathering the honey-tinged tresses in her hands. "How about we do a partial up and down? The flowers Enid picked to pin in will look _perfect_ like that."

Taking a seat on the chair they'd dragged from downstairs, Michonne nodded as the sisters she'd always longed for went to work.

…

"Don't make me laugh! I'll pee all over myself!"

"That's the price you pay for ignoring your lady exercises," Maggie smirked, throwing Michonne a look as Rosita rolled her eyes.

" _Do not_ make me part of this," Michonne said, narrowing her eyes at Maggie. "We've got an impressionable young woman in the room. You don't want her to get negative ideas about childbirth and motherhood."

"She's heard worse," Rosita scoffed. "Every single woman alive these days can handle _anything_. Because, all of us have had to and we'll keep doing what we need to do to keep us and ours safe. Besides, it's not like I pee myself for no rea–"

"No!" Enid, exclaimed, clutching her chest in feigned horror. " _Please_ don't tell that story again!"

"Or what?" Maggie prodded, tossing a wink at Rosita. "No one's gonna stop Rosita from talking about how birthing Eugene's 'big-headed baby' nearly ruined her hoohaa."

Michonne gave Maggie a withering look.

"Don't look at me!" Maggie proclaimed, picking up a sleepy Abraham Daniel and laying him on the bed to nap. "I don't even live here and _I've_ heard the story."

"Look ladies," Rosita began, dropping down onto the chair Michonne had vacated. "Not _everyone_ can have Michonne's deluxe lady parts. The one that has our Rick pouting like a four-year-old if she's away more than a day. Popping out babies with perfectly normal-sized heads. The rest of us are just doing the best we can."

"Don't put that on me," Michonne retorted. "You knew what you were getting into when you married that man."

"Yeah," Rosita sighed, a soft smile pulling up the corners of her mouth as she looked over at her sleeping son. "I did indeed."

…

"Why did you and Rick decide to get married _now_?" Enid timidly asked, weaving an intricate pattern of jasmine blooms and scorpion grasses into the beautiful up-down style Rosita had created.

"It wasn't something that really matter to me in the old world," Michonne began, looking at Enid's reflection as she finished pinning the final flowers in her hair. "We were already committed and raising kids together. I felt married. It didn't seem, I don't know, _necessary_ I guess. But Rick though…"

The room broke out in laughter. Everyone knew Rick had been asking for her hand since practically their first night together. For Michonne, they were already bonded. No amount of pageantry could add to what they already had.

Then she watched this man as they struggled to conceive. This man who took on all her pain and anxiety. This man whose arms never stopped feeling like home. Rick became the one man she wanted to breathlessly and publicly declare her love for.

"He knew," Michonne admitted. "I just needed to catch up."

"Sometimes, you don't know," Rosita began, pausing as she checked on a sleeping Duncan in his crib in the corner. "Sometimes, you only know _when_ you know. At least that's how it was with me and Eugene. He surprised me."

"And sometimes you know from the very start," Maggie began, grabbing Rosita hand as she looked over at Michonne and smiled. "But it takes a minute for your head to catch up with your heart."

Michonne knew Maggie had never consider a life with anyone besides Glenn, but as she told Maggie, Glenn would have never chosen a solo life for her and their son. While there wasn't anyone on the horizon, Maggie had finally healed enough to open herself up to the possibilities.

"You look so beautiful!" Maggie gasped as Michonne rose and turned to face them.

The purple and white blooms woven around the crown of her head and down the back were the perfect background for the hint of shimmering makeup Rosita had dusted on her forehead and cheeks; plum lipstick added the final touch.

Michonne ran her fingers down her hips, smoothing out the champagne-colored floor length halter dress. She'd been worried about how it would look, especially so soon after Duncan's birth. But it molded perfectly to her figure. Her amble breast were encased and held in place by buttons at the back of her neck, while the A-line style graciously skimmed her curves and accentuated her best parts. She knew Rick would love it.

Giddy with excitement, she moved to the window, taking in how decked out the community was for their wedding. She inhaled deeply, not wanting tears to overwhelm the magical moment.

Enid came to stand next to her as they watched Carl, clad in a white button-up and khaki dress pants, stroll towards the gazebo. Her eyes quickly scanned the crowd, searching for Rick, before thinking better of it and turning away. It'd be worth the wait.

* * *

" _How is it you look more nervous than me?" Rick inquired, standing in front of Carl as they readied themselves for the wedding._

" _It's a big day dad," Carl replied. "You're not even a little bit nervous?"_

" _Of course not," Rick stated, turning to face the mirror in Aaron and Jesus' guest room, Michonne's favorite baby blue button-down shirt in his hands. "It's been a long time comin'. Just really excited. Can't wait to see her."_

 _Carl studied his father as Rick tucked the shirt into the brand-new pair of dark-washed Levi's Michonne and he had insisted he wear._

" _Dad?" Carl inquired, his voice going soft as he looked into eyes identical to his own. "How do you know of the feelings you have for someone will last forever?"_

 _Rick held his son's gaze, thinking of how to answer. The truth was, he didn't actually know. When he stood at the altar with Lori a lifetime ago, he was young and in love and thought that feeling would always be enough to carry them through._

 _But the fissures in their relationship had appeared long before the world went to hell. By the end, they weren't even in the same book, let alone on the same page. The pain eventually subsided, yet the guilt lingered for a long time. Until he fell in love with Michonne._

 _She'd walked into his dark world, opened the windows, and saturated it with light. All was illuminated as she lovingly forced him to see himself as reflected in her eyes._

" _How do you know?" Rick said, placing his hands on Carl's shoulders. "When you don't have to hide your faults because she makes you want to do better. When she makes you feel like she truly sees you, warts 'an all, yet loves you anyway. That's how you know."_

* * *

Hearing a sudden roar of laughter from outside, Michonne crept back towards the window. She'd decided to at least try following the one tradition Maggie and Rosita had insisted upon. So, she carefully shielded herself from prying eyes as she pulled back the curtains and peeked out the window.

Her eyes settled on him almost immediately. She smiled, noting how he'd worn her favorite shirt and the new jeans Jesus, at Michonne's request, had brought him back from a run after she'd _accidentally_ lost his favorite pair. She watched him make his way through the crowd, receiving hugs and slaps on the back as he walked down the path to the gazebo with Carl at his shoulder.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought back to all they had endured since that fateful first meeting, back when anger and mistrust ruled them both.

 _And so it is_

She often went back to that moment at the fence, studying it, pondering if it was _the_ moment the fates had inevitably rolled the dice and brought them together. She couldn't quite remember what she'd been thinking as she stared at him through the chain-linked fence. The pain of her gunshot wound had dulled her senses so completely that only bits and pieces floated back to her, no matter how hard she tried to recall the details.

 _Just like you said it would be_

The only thing she remembered clearly were his eyes. Those eyes that seemed to see right into her very soul from day one. The eyes that eventually promised her the world, then gave it to her.

 _Life goes easy on me_

Those acrimonious times when they'd somehow lost sight of each other. When her faith in him had been shaken. When she knew she _had_ to leave because, being whole for herself was more important.

 _Most of the time_

After the Saviors had brought them low and she realized there was no way she could stand a life without Rick, Carl, and Judith in it.

 _And so it is_

How he pulled the dark cloak that had hidden her light after Spencer's death. He'd looked at her like he would have done anything to make lighter the burdens plaguing her soul. And he had.

 _The shorter story_

When she first accepted his touch, the pure connection had made her spirit sing, her now open heart allowing her to finally freely admit what her head dared not speak for so, so long.

 _No love, no glory_

 _No hero in her eyes_

When finding love at the end of the world seemed an impossibility. All the things that could have shattered them, but didn't. How he made her dream of more children, then made it so.

 _I can't take my eyes off of you_

As she looked down at him from her perch, she realized this would be _their_ forever. And this was how it was always meant to be.

* * *

Rick stood at the base of the steps to the gazebo, nervous energy causing him to absentmindedly sway back and forth on the heels of his boots. A bemused Carl stood next to him, taking in his excited father, while scanning the crowd for friends and family. Carl spotted Carol and Ezekiel making their way down the flower-strewed path towards them.

"Why don't you two look handsome!" Carol exclaimed, reaching out to pull both Rick and Carl into an exuberate hug.

"Good to see you too Carol," Rick stated, smiling down at the woman as he pulled away. "Glad you made it."

"A Michonne Thibodaux, Rick Grimes wedding?" she said, returning his grin. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. This one, not the old one."

Rick laughed, giving her an extra squeeze, before reaching out to shake Ezekiel's hand.

"Everyone in the Kingdom sends you their absolute best on this glorious day!" Ezekiel bellowed, taking Carol's hand into his.

"Everyone does," Carol concurred, nodding as Rick caught her eye.

"Thanks Carol," Rick said, giving his old friend a smile. "I appreciate it."

Rick watched as Carol and Ezekiel turned towards the grounds, finding a sunny spot near the front. He brought his attention back to the gathered crowd, mystified to see so many travel so far just to celebrate with them. He could already feel the emotions bubbling their way towards the surface.

Exhaling deeply, he continued roving around those assembled. Daryl, Aaron and Jesus huddled to the side and smoking. Rosita standing and chatting with Maggie as Eugene entertained their sons on a blanket at their feet. Enid sitting on the same blanket and holding Duncan, while Judith and Isla, eager for their chance to participate in the festivities, whispered to each other like conspirators.

"Looks like the weather's gonna hold up," Carl said, looking up at the clear blue sky as the sun filtered in through the slats of the gazebo's roof.

Carl reached out to tap his father's shoulder and draw him from his daydream, when Daryl's loud whistle, signaling commencement of the day's big event, caused both to jump.

"Ready dad?" Carl asked, holding his father's gaze.

"Ready son," he replied.

Rick clapped Carl on the shoulder, watching as he turned back up the path to the spot where Enid sat with his sisters. Holding out both hands, he watched as the little girls jumped up and ran to their big brother. Carl squatted down to their eye-level and said something that made them laugh, instantly drawing a smile to Rick's lips. He straighten up and reached for their hands, which both eagerly took as the three walked back towards the house. Rick closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. Soon, they'd be returning with his bride. He could hardly wait.

…

 _And so it is_

He could pinpoint exactly when his life in this cruel, crazy, messed-up world had irreversibly changed. That moment at the fence had been everything. He'd been so lost. Devastated by the loss of Lori before they'd had the chance to forgive each other. Numbed by the trauma of caring for a newborn. Weary from the responsibilities of keeping Carl safe, like he'd promised. Desperate to keep _all_ of them safe.

And then, she appeared. He'd been confused at first, assuming he was still chasing ghosts. But as the vision of Lori dissipated, there Michonne stood, bold and bright. An offering least expected, but one that would have seismic impact to his life and those of his children.

Waking up in hell and trying to make sense of it. The sheer exhilaration of finding his family again, only to be dashed by the horrors of this world. He'd been irreparably broken. Or so he'd thought.

 _Just like you said it should be_

She appeared at the gates, like a mirage tricking his soul. His distrust had marked the start of their relationship, but her bond with Carl had sealed the tie that would forever bind them. She'd propped him up when he thought he was unable to go on. She saw him in a way no one else did or ever had. And, she loved him anyway.

 _We'll both forget the breeze_

She'd shared with him the most difficult, intimate parts of herself. He wallowed in the splendor of simply being in her presence.

 _Most of the time_

He'd hidden the dark places in his heart for so long that even he wasn't sure who he really was. She had shown him. She led him here.

 _And so it is the colder water_

 _The Blower's daughter_

 _The pupil in denial_

He thought of her capacity for forgiveness. The well of which he would never again betray. He had sunned himself in the glory of her love for Carl and Judith. For the home and family she'd willingly built with him.

She was his one true thing. The one thing in this world that he could always see clearly because, she saw him as well. He'd gladly give up everything to make her happy. To make sure she knew just how much her love had meant to him. All that he owned, and all that he would ever own was hers. She'd trusted him with her heart and he had done the same.

 _I can't take my eyes off you_

He turned as the soft strumming of Aaron's guitar brought his eyes to the front of the path leading to the gazebo. Tears began following the moment he caught sight of his little girls dropping fresh petals onto the trail leading to where he stood. The smiled up at him so sweetly, excited to be part of the day. He wanted to run down the stairs and take them in his arms, but he waited, giving them smiles of encouragement as they made their way down the aisle, up the stairs, and into his arms.

"Great job ladies," he whispered, dropping to one knee and taking them into his arms.

"Thanks daddy," they loudly whispered back, stirring up some chuckles from the crowd.

He stood up, Judith standing next to him, while Isla wrapped her arm around his leg. He looked over at Father Gabriel when he heard the man audibly gasp. Rick turned to get a look at what had caused the reaction. His breath hitched the moment he turned and caught his eye. Carl stared back up at his father as he proudly walked with his arm linked under Michonne's.

All was silent; even the air held still. She looked amazing. Her very skin glistening, the sun no match for it today. The beautiful dress skimming her body and laying bare all her beauty.

 _I can't take my eyes off you_

Rick couldn't stop staring. She was a vision. Flecks of gold seemed to glisten off her cheeks as he could see, even from a distance, how brightly her smile shone. Her skin delectably soft as it's glossy sheen seemed to reflect and bounce the light up and into her gorgeous deep brown eyes. She was breathtaking.

The dress did nothing to obscure her gorgeous curves. Her hair was done exactly how he liked: pulled back from her face so he could see all of her and with the flowers spun around her locs, she looked like an angel. His angel.

Carl guided her up the stairs, where her girls insisted on a hug before standing by Carl while she and Rick stood side by side, hands laced together, smiling at Father Gabriel.

"Dear friends," the Minister began, his back to the sun as he looked out to all his friends and family happy to be a part of this joyous occasion. "We're here to honor and show our love for two amazing people. And… we all know it's been a _long_ time coming!"

Carl turned around at the cacophony of laughter breaking out across the large group surrounding them. He smiled to himself. He didn't exactly know what life would have been like at his age in the old world. Sometimes, it made him sad, but not today. He looked over at Enid, rocking Duncan in her arms. He turned back to catch his father's then Michonne's eyes; both shiny with tears.

"We've all watched them grow together," Father Gabriel continued, turning back to the happy couple. "Suffer together. B _uild_ something together. And today, it is my immeasurable pleasure to see them joined together in holy matrimony. My meager words would not be enough to convey the love and devotion they have for each other, so it only makes sense they share their own vows. Michonne?"

Hands trembling she turned to face him. She could live an eternity and never tire of looking into those eyes.

 _I can't take my eyes off you_

"The one thing I know to be true is the love I have for you and this family we've made," she began, gripping his hands tightly. "When I met you, I wasn't part of the living. I'd given up, resigned to the fact that I would probably live and leave this cruel world alone. And then I met you and Carl. It changed everything. It changed my very foundation. Come what may, I'm yours forever."

She had more she'd planned to say, but didn't think she'd be able to get it out at the moment. Besides, she'd already told him what he meant to her many times and in many different was. She smiled at him as tears trickled down her face. He was her heart.

"Rick?" Father Gabriel gently asked, not wanting to disturb the moment.

 _I can't take my eyes off you_

Rick gazed at his bride. Years in the making, but he would have gone to the ends of the earth to make her his.

"You've had my heart for a long, long time," he said, rubbing the top of her hands with his thumbs. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

 _I can't take my eyes off you_

"I've made a lot of mistakes in this life. Hell, I made a lot of mistakes in the old life too. But what's always been true. What I've always been sure of since the moment I met you, was that you were… you _are_ something very special. I love you with everything I am and will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget that."

 _I can't take my eyes off you_

He dropped one of her hands and reached over to catch a tear trailing from the corners of her eyes. Wiping it with his thumb, he smiled as she closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his palm. Feeling as if they were the only two people left in the world, he leaned in to give her a kiss so soft and tender, it made her want to weep. This man was her everything.

He didn't have to look around to know all eyes were on them. But none of that mattered. It was always her, only her. Until his dying breath, she was the vision his eyes would never dare leave.

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm done!

A big MWAHHHH to everyone who read _any_ part of my story. And for those who stuck it out from start to finish (sorry, I'm in an especially corny mood at the moment), I'm so grateful. This has been one of the most fulfilling things I've done in my entire life.

I originally planned to thank everyone that helped me complete this journey, but was afraid of accidentally missing someone. So for all of you who reviewed or PM'd me about this story, and for the lovely silent readers, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart!

I only had this one idea, so I was fully expecting this to be a "one and done" type of thing, but as it turns out, I have a few other ideas simmering. I hope to share them soon.

Song lyrics: _The Blower's Daughter_ by Damien Rice. Yes, it's a bit melancholy for a cotton-candy fluffy chapter, but it's also an achingly beautiful love song and its refrain felt absolutely perfect for this imperfect love story.

As always, thank you for reading!


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